


Delayed Diagnosis

by Han502653



Series: A Hunter Family [7]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Family Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Gon and Killua mentions, I tried to be accurate with the medical stuff, Knuckle is insecure, M/M, Palm has a very lose understanding of privacy, Pre-Dark Continent Arc, Shoot has anxiety, all of them are guilt prone, but some is handwaved or inaccurate for plot reasons, cursing, or because everything I researched was hidden behind heavy jargon, post election arc, radiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:49:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han502653/pseuds/Han502653
Summary: In the chaos of battle lots of little things can be missed—and sometimes those little things can have big effects. Like for instance, the fact Knuckle and Meleoron spent a considerable time in the same room of an extremely irradiated king.But their fine… right?





	1. Sudden Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> This lives in the same verse as all my other Hunter X Hunter fics so far, and does make reference to them from time to time, but should be readable on it's own. It's also the first one I started and the last one i finished of seven stories, so that's a thing.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys!

It was rather ironic that two days after Morel was released from the hospital, and the same day Shoot woke and realized he actually felt somewhat okay for the first time in nearly two weeks, was the day Knuckle collapsed.

He had been quiet all afternoon, and frankly had been rather lowkey the day before as well, only really showing some energy when Gon’s pictures came in. That should of have been the first sign, and normally that _would_ have been a huge warning sign but since the attack everyone had been acting a little weird, and the Election and Gon’s health hadn’t been helping matters. It was easy for things to fall wayside.

So nobody was prepared when, after groaning to his feet having been the slowest to touch his nose—stuck fetching the next round of drinks from the vending machine—he collapsed two steps from the door way.

No one was prepared; no one had even been looking, so he hit the ground hard.

But hunters were hunters, and ants were ants, and not even a moment passed before Ikalgo was running from the room, Palm was kneeled at his head with Meleoron hovering just behind, and even drugged and bedbound Shoot was half off the bed before he remembered the uncomfortable array of tubes he hadn’t quite gotten rid of yet.

He froze but his eyes didn’t leave Palm’s back—all he could see of Knuckle was his feet—all he could hear was the sudden pounding in his ears. The buzzing of his thoughts spreading through his nerves. “What—?”

Palm shifted Knuckles body, and Shoot went colder as all she said was an angry, “shit,” under her breath. Before he could bring up the nerve to ask again, before Meleoron could do more than widen his eyes—the nurses and doctors stormed in with a gurney.

Then there was movement—Knuckle was on the gurney and out of the room—Palm following close behind, one hand reaching out and snatching up the front of Meleoron’s jumpsuit, dragging him along with a yelp. Just as quick as they were there they were gone, and all was left was Shoot and Ikalgo.

“What…?” Shoot finally managed way to late, heart still pounding in his ears, heart pounding on the monitor.

Ikalgo could only give him a helpless shrug.

 

Radiation poisoning. It was radiation poisoning. Palm had realized it as soon as she had shifted Knuckle into the rescue position and realized his nose was bleeding. She had seen it through her sight to often to not. She cursed herself—she had known that Meruem had captured Knuckle and Meleoron, _seen_ it, but she hadn’t thought he had spent much of any time in their proximity once Pouf left his side, and she had been busy trying to find a way to salvage everything that it had slipped her mind.

When Knuckle finally awoke a day or so later he would admit to having felt a bit off the last two days, but had assumed it was from sleeping on hospital furniture, and maybe the onset of a cold from living in a hospital for two weeks. His gums had been bleeding a little too—but that he had assumed was from limited dental hygiene and nearly living off chips the last while. It hadn’t occurred to him that anything could be really _wrong_ —despite the million dead from Pouf radioactive scales. Nobody had, nobody had even wondered, it had been to chaotic, to busy.

Meleoron remembered him throwing up when they first awoke in the rubble—but they thought that had been because of being knocked out…

Meleoron was sick too, though only in hindsight did he really notice, it had been a slow progression, and minor enough to escape much thought—the only theory was that his thick skin had worked as better insulation than Knuckle’s skin at protecting his more vulnerable systems. For now at least he seemed okay, but if that changed—they couldn’t give _him_ a blood transfusion. He was admitted instantly.

The good news was after a surge of frantic testing, nobody else was poisoned.

The bad news was that Knuckle and Meleoron’s health tanked right after.

 

“Unlike the King and his guards, or the people poisoned from the royal guard Shiaipouf, Mr. Bine and Mr. Meleoron were not exposed to the direct radiation blast and such did not suffer in the same way, nor is their diagnosis certainly fatal, but they were instead exposed to relatively low, second hand levels of radiation for a significantly long time.

“But the Rose has unique properties compared to other nuclear radiations, both in lethality and sudden onset of symptoms. It’s not unusual for people exposed to low-levels to have a minor Prodomal period, a long Latent period, and then a significant Overt period.

“That said, historically, if tragically, the Rose has been used more often than other nuclear weapons, and in such more studies and information is available on treatment and effects.” The head doctor of the Swaldani National Hospital sighed and adjusted his glasses. “The first step was to remove as much radiation from them as possible, done by, as some colleagues have termed the ‘brute force method:’ Laxatives, lavage, and doses of Prussian Blue. Do to Mr. Bine’s unconsciousness, he had to be intubated before we began—”

Shoot sucked in a breath—Knuckle was terrified of being intubated.

“—but he has since been released and the two of them are currently in recovery in reverse isolation rooms. Once they awaken we will see about inserting Central Lines in them to ease retrieval of blood and supply of medicine. Otherwise it will be mostly wait and see, with treatment for side effects as they come up.”

The room was quiet. Morel stood right in front of him arms crossed, to one side Knov frowned under the shade of his hat and to the other Shoot sat as straight on his bed as he could watching warily. Ikago sat at the end of his bed and Palm stood on Knov’s other side.

Finally Morel sighed. “What are the chances?” he asked. Shoot winced.

“If we had caught it right away we could have given them potassium idiom pills and other treatments which could have helped significantly, but since we didn’t and it was left unchecked, and I take full responsibility for that oversite on our part, I assure you…” he trailed off with another sigh.

“It’s honestly too early to tell. At this point we don’t even know how many greys they were exposed to. We’re going to have to do more tests to gauge the severity of the damage done, talk with Mr. Bine when he awakes for more clues and watch how their bodies are recovering. That along with the concern of them picking up any outside diseases do to negligence – their immune systems would not have been operating well. In particular, though he shows the fewest symptoms, I’m concerned for Mr. Meleoron as we can’t give him blood transfusions should he require them and most of his anatomy remains a mystery, but I can assure that I and this hospital will do everything we can to help them.”

Morel grunted, seemingly displeased with the not-answer, but nodded as the doctor bid his farewell. As the door closed Palm carded a hand through her hair, looking stricken. “This is my fault,” she told the room staring at the wall. “I knew about the king, and I saw him capture them— _If_ I had only thought that through—”

A hand on her shoulder cut her off and she glanced over to see Knov, who shifted his hat with his other hand. Palm glanced away quickly, her face turning pink. “It’s not your fault, Palm.”

“But—”

“He’s right,” Morel agreed as he sat heavily in the chair behind him and rubbed at his healing leg. “It’s not your fault any more than it’s mine, or Knov’s, or even _theirs_ , none of us thought of it, they didn’t think of it—it was chaos during and after the fight. There is no point pointing fingers.”

Shoot looked away back to his blanket and fiddled with some loose strings, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat and the buzzing in his skull. The static that made him want to move and freeze at once. The idea of Knuckle sick and weak on a bed, dying of something as insidious as radiation…

“Alright,” Palm agreed dully. Shoot didn’t think she actually believed that, but he didn’t think Morel did either, not really. He glanced over at his stone cut face as the others left the room. Deep down Shoot knew Morel blamed himself just as much as Palm blamed herself, if not more.

His hand was shaking; with a grimace he clutched it around the blanket.

As the door closed Morel let out a long thunderous sigh and collapsed further into his chair wincing slightly as he irritated his healing back wound. With one big hand he clutched Shoot’s shoulder.

“The two of you can never stay out of trouble can you?” he grunted somewhat fondly. “I swear you’re actually worse now than when you were kids.”

The hand was grounding and after a few breaths Shoot released his hand and shook it as if it stung. He smiled weakly. “I was a model student.” Granted that had been more from fear of punishment than studiousness. “Then Knuckle showed up and with him…” his smiled fell as memories passed by. “More gang activity than I want to remember, not that it was really his fault.”

Morel grunted with a grin. “No it wasn’t, though I recall some interesting rescue missions that also happened, mostly when I was _out_ of town—”

Only years of experience let Shoot know that he was side-eyeing him through his sunglasses, and he was slightly bemused to notice he didn’t feel any anxiety as he shrugged slightly. “We were training to be Beast Hunters… and most of them were Knuckle’s fault anyway, I was just there to clean up his mess.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” his grin softened.  “I still think picking him up was the best idea I ever had—got you out of your shell, you give him a bit of caution—” Shoot looked away a bit red faced with a small grin –“I’m proud of you, _both_ of you, you know that right. You two ended up alright.”

Shoot’s gaze snapped to Morel who just smiled at him, but he realized: Yes. Yes, he did know that. Despite Morel and Knuckle soft personalities they three didn’t do mushy very often but… yes, he did know that.

“Because of you,” he managed in a whisper.

Morel laughed again and shook his head while getting up with a groan, rubbing at his back carefully. “No. You did it all your selves, and maybe a little bit of each other. I was just there for a bit of a push.” With a stretch he headed to the door with a backward wave. “I’m going to check on Knuckle, I’ll keep you updated.”

As he left Shoot noticed that his head felt clear and allowed himself to flop back on his pillow, wincing at the misjudgment. He smiled slightly though as his eyes closed. Morel was wrong—he meant more for him—for Knuckle Shoot imagined— than he let himself believe. Just as he knew to stay behind a few extra moments now, he had been there for Shoot for years, almost two decades now.

Morel had saved him, and while he liked to think Knuckle, big and strong and brash with too much heart despite the bitter chip on his shoulder, would have been alright, he had probably saved him too. He had given them a chance when the world had thrown them away. Neither of them had ever thought about being a hunter when he found them, but he had still given them that chance—and if they had said no, if they had truly refused his invitation to be his students—he’s certain Morel would have given them a chance another way.

Before Morel people came in two flavors in Shoot’s life, negative, and painfully neutral to be all but invisible.

But then Morel had not only saved his life, he’d checked up on him afterwards, and when he had found out what his parents had done—abandoned the newly handicapped child they had never really wanted in the first place – he had assured he had somewhere to go without any time to think, just act.

Shoot still remembered the conversation he had accidentally overheard once when he was fifteen. Morel had been drinking with a few other hunters. One had told him he should be more selective with his choice of students: a handicapped scaredy-cat, and a young gang punk with a chip on his shoulder, neither of them having much of any experience with Nen or fighting beforehand, and still children let alone already hunters and not really interested all that much in his field. Morel hadn’t bothered to respond but Shoot still remembered the pure look of scorn he had sent his way.

That had stuck with him harder than nearly anything else.

Gon may have inspired him during the fight—but he knew he wouldn’t have been there without Morel, and yes, Knuckle.

The slight smile faded at that thought and he felt the catch in his throat again. Life without Knuckle... Life without that over-emotional, over-enthusiastic, over-caring man…

He swallowed again.

 

It felt rather empty in Shoot’s room now with Knuckle and Meleoron’s glaring absence. Morel and Knov had promptly left to handle some things. Shoot wasn’t sure if they were still in the hospital or elsewhere – the Hunters association had been hounding them recently. So all that was left was him, Ikalgo and Palm, and frankly it was a little awkward.

More awkward than things normally was with him that was. He hadn’t really spent any time befriending them and while they had visited quite frequently while he was here, he’d always assumed that was because of Knuckle and a lack of anywhere else to go. Knuckle had always been one to befriend anyone who let him. He was just… likable.

Shoot meanwhile was… mostly just awkward.

Though perhaps it still was because of Knuckle and a lack of anywhere else to go. Knuckle was still out, having been unconscious and then for good measure put under to assure he didn’t wake as they pumped his stomach. Meleoron had wakened briefly, but was still disoriented, and so far nobody had been allowed to properly visit them, only see them through a window. From what he understood they had to be kept in isolation to avoid getting sick. If and when they were allowed visitors the visitors would have to be thoroughly decontaminated first.

“Are you alright?”

Shoot glanced up to Ikalgo, only to quickly fail to keep eye contact. “I’m fine.”

Palm snorted from beside him. Shoot couldn’t help but blush and fidget. This was really, _really_ uncomfortable.

“Yeah, right,” she said. “You’re as fine as the rest of us, if not _worse_.”

Shoot fidgeted more and bit his lip. He wished they would leave.

Palm sighed again. “I’m sorry,” she said in a lower voice, Shoot blushed more. “I know how you’re… sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, we’re just all worried.”

At the reminder Shoot nodded. Yeah. His gaze shifted over to her only briefly, but snapped back as he noticed she was covering one eye. “Are you…?”

Palm looked sheepish but nodded dropping her hand. “Only occasionally… I figured it was likely we wouldn’t get to see them for a while… I wanted to keep an eye on them.”

For a moment Shoot stared at her, and then he caught himself and looked away. He hadn’t realized Palm had been so attached to Knuckle or Meleoron, though this Palm was different in many ways. Maybe something had happen while he was out, or outside the room these last few weeks. He didn’t know. He couldn’t ask.

Still, it felt less awkward now, still uncomfortable, but… right, for the three of them to be waiting together.  Shoot’s shoulders slumped and suddenly he really wished he could sleep but knew he wouldn’t be able to, even if he _had_ been alone.

“It’s the least I can do,” Palm muttered.

“They said it’s not your fault.”

Palm snorted. “Do you really believe that?”

Shoot looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “Yes.”

Palm snorted again.

“I’m not telling you to stop feeling guilty,” Shoot continued after some hesitation. Again from his peripherals he could see Palm and her slight jolt at his words. Different from what she’s been hearing all day he knew. “I know it’s never that easy. I’m just telling you I don’t blame you, nor does Morel and Knov, and neither will Knuckle.”

“He should.”

Shoot shrugged again. “Maybe, but he knew going into this that there was danger to his life, great danger. Just like I knew it—” he gestured to his leg, he still had two surgeries lined up in hope of gaining most of his mobility back— “And so did Meleoron. And so did you.”

“They’re going to be fine.”

Both Palm and Shoot’s head snapped up and they stared down the bed to where Ikalgo was perched. He wasn’t looking at them but instead the door, arms crossed. After a moment he turned his head to look at them, a deep frown sketched across his face. “There is no point assigning blame because they will be _fine_.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Palm shifted forward, eyes pained.

“It’s not that simple, Ikalgo, even if they don’t die, acute radiations syndrome can lead to all sorts—”

“It doesn’t matter, can you really see Knuckle _or_ Meleoron losing to radiation.”

Shoot glanced away. Who could have thought _Meruem_ would lose to radiation.

“They are our _friends_ , you believe in our _friends_ , right. Well then believe in their unwillingness to _die_.” Ikalgo looked away and back to the door. “And if things do get bad, well, we’ll deal with it _then_ , not consider them goners before they even had a chance.”

“I…I didn’t…I _don’t_ ”

“Then _act_ like it already!”

Shoot stayed quiet. If only such things were so simple. He trusted Knuckle, he trusted Knuckle’s stubbornness. He truly did, but fear still squeezed his chest all the same.


	2. Many Talks

Knuckle hadn’t really expected Palm to visit by herself. Maybe visit with the group, sure, she’d been hanging around Shoot’s room a lot after all—but that was _Shoot_ and he was _him_. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be his second visitor right after Morel had patted his shoulder uncharacteristically gently and made his leave.

He watched as she primly sat into the chair next to his bed despite the scrubs she had to wear. Her vast quantity of hair somehow tucked up into one of those weird hospital caps. She wasn’t looking at him, her face carefully composed into a neutral mask. He couldn’t understand why, but he had never really understood Palm. At least, never beyond the basic danger signs to avoid.

“I’m sorry.”

Knuckle blinked. “What for?”

“For not real—”

_Oh_. Knuckle sighed.

“Jeeze, Palm, _don’t_. I didn’t think of it either.”

“Yes, but I’m the one who realized they were dying and why. I saw them capture you. I should have—”

“And I knew about the radiation poisoning, and that all those people died. I knew I threw up as soon as I woke up but didn’t say anything—I was too worried about Shoot, and Morel, and _Gon_ to worry about me, and felt _fine,_ and so were you. It’s _fine_.” He grinned stronger than he felt. “And I’ll be _fine_ … unless my hair falls out, _then_ I’m blaming you.”

Palm blinked at him, and then giggled.

“I’m _serious_. They said it could happen!”

“I just… after all this time… and you being… and you in a hat like _Knov_!” she snickered.

Knuckle’s face contorted into an expression of pure horror. Palm’s snickers turned to full blown laughter and she doubled over.

“Never,” he hissed.

Palm just laughed for a while and Knuckle let her with a pout. As she quieted his face turned pensive and he looked at her seriously. Her face dimmed as she caught it, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Palm, you really need to convince Knov he needs a better hat.”

Her concern shattered into bemusement. “Do I?”

“Holy shit, yes, he needs like a… top hat or a fedora or something. I’ve been trying to be nice and ignore it, but just… _really_.”

“A fedora? _Really,_ Knuckle.”

Knuckle grinned up at her tiredly. “Hey, at least it’ll match his suit, he looks ridiculous like that. At the very least black would be better, why bright orange?”

“I think Morel gave it to him.” Her lips quirked. “Somehow—despite hospitalization.”

Knuckle’s eyes widened in realization and he nodded slightly. “Oh, yeah, that would explain it.”

“Could also be a bet.”

“That’s fully possible to, could be both.”

“Probably both with those two, yes.”

Knuckle shifted weakly on his pillow to better glance at Palm who was looking fond if a bit wistful.

“And you’re… okay with that?” He asked unwisely, allowing his curiosity and frankly lack of fucks right now, to take the lead. Normally he had better survivor instincts but he was too exhausted to have any kind of care. To his surprise she didn’t react at all like he suspected.

Palm’s lip instead twitched and she sat back gingerly on her chair. “More or less, I’m… _different_ now.”

“Yeah I… kind of noticed…”

She snorted. “I _know_ I’m different too, you don’t have to tip-toe around it.” She paused and looked at her hands. “And not just physically either. I know I was…”

“Intense,” Knuckle offered.

Palm snorted and crossed her arms. “That’s a kind way of putting it.”

“ _Very_ intense,” Knuckle tried again weakly. This time Palm actually laughed.

“Sure, we’ll go with that.” Her smile faded and she grimaced. It was quiet for a long moment. Knuckle grimaced as the silence grew ever more awkward.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been, ah… kinda awkward around him… avoiding him?” Knuckle finally continued somewhat desperately. Normally he wouldn’t push, but then there hadn’t been much of a normal beforehand. He’d known Palm for a few years, ever since Knov had taken her in as a student, but he had never gotten close. She scared him too much for that. Or at least she _had_. She was still scary and powerful, if in a _very_ different way now, but also… not bad to talk too.

And he imagined after she went through. Someone to talk to would be a nice thing to have… if she wanted that.

Her grimace tightened, and to his surprise when he focused he noticed her face has pinked a little as well.

“Like I said, I _know_ I’m different, and in hindsight…” she trailed off and her blush grew, she glanced away, at the ceiling, the floor, the walls. “In hindsight I was pretty bad—”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Knuckle tried glancing away.

Palm snorted darkly. “I was so upset to be away from him for a month or two I threatened two twelve year olds with death if they failed. I spent the entire time in varying levels of anxious psychosis, and when they failed—” She grimaced harshly. “—as punishment I decided that instead I was going to date a _twelve_ year old more or less against his will, and got pissed and eventually _attacked_ when he tried to let me off _easy_.”

The two sat in the echoes of those last words for a long moment. “Um, I think he was thirteen by then,” Knuckle tried quietly.

Palm rolled her eyes. “Yes, because that changes _everything_ , Knuckle.” She closed her them. “I required Knov to be stable, and that was extremely dependent and never healthy. In hindsight I know this. In hindsight… I needed help.”

Help someone probably should have gotten her, Knuckle figured, but nobody had known what to do, especially as Palm had never been a slouch in the Hunter department. It would have been hard to make her do something she didn’t want to, and even if she did go willingly, hunters were _stubborn_. It had been easier to just limit her actions, keep her on a leash instead. Not that was a rarity in the Hunter world. Most hunters probably could use some kind of help. Still though, Knuckle was beginning to agree that reform needed to happen—among them some actual support for Hunters, not just medically but mentally.

“Cheaper than therapy, I guess,” Knuckle muttered than winced as he realized what he had said. To his undying relief Palm burst out in a laugh.

“Yes, yes, I imagine it was,” she agreed, lips twisted amusedly. “God, that was refreshing. I’m _so_ tired of how everyone keeps tip-toeing around my change.” She grinned. “Next time we’re all together, can you say something like that, maybe it’ll break the ice.”

“And get me a scolding,” Knuckle false-muttered from the side of his mouth before grinning as she laughed again. The tired thousand yard stare she had been barely hiding disappeared when she laughed. “Sure, I can try if you want; I’m telling them you told me to if anyone tries to scold me though, and Morel will, probably Knov and Shoot to, maybe Ikalgo...”

“Sure, sure, I’ll back you up, anything to announce the elephant in the room, or at least _one_ of them.”

With a sigh she leaned back more, making herself more comfortable and less respectable. Knuckle realized this was the first time he had really seen her like this. Maybe they really _were_ becoming friends, and not just him jumping on the idea instantly like he always did. “But to go back to your question,” Palm continued lowly, her voice more serious. “Truthfully… I’m not sure how to untangle my emotions for Knov, not anymore. I was _so_ dependent of him and… things are clearer now in a lot of ways, but also… but my memories are _not_. I have a hard time untangling my thought process and feelings from before. Add that to the embarrassment well… I just need some time, I guess.”

“That makes sense,” Knuckle agreed through a half swallowed yawn. His body ached, his head ached, his throat ached, and internal places he didn’t want to think about ached. He ached. “Can’t imagine that whole thing was easy.”

“Hmm,” she replied noncommittedly. “It’s… _different_. It doesn’t help that I’m not like Meleoron or Ikalgo or the others either… they made me differently…I…” she trailed off for a while.

Knuckle yawned again and tried to ignore the sudden weight on his eyes. He was already tired of being tired dammit. “I?”

“I don’t regret it.”

Knuckle, perhaps uncharacteristically, held his tongue, and instead watched her face as it shifted through several unreadable thoughts before stabilizing into stubborn determination.

“I know, in a way, people expect me to regret having gone in there, but I don’t. Because I was there I was helpful, and my change… it wasn’t _fun_ , dying—being changed, even when you do it yourself, or try to—” Knuckle’s lips thinned but he held his tongue, he figured that was one of those things better left in the past— “but the changes themselves… I’m more stable now, more powerful—I wouldn’t _want_ anyone else to go through it—they might not come out for the better, but…I _did_. I’m _happy_ like this.”

She glanced down at her arms. “Mostly at least, and the rest I think will come in time.”

Knuckle blinked up at her, eyes heavy. He tried to fight it off. “That’s good.” He agreed.

She smiled, glanced at him and rolled her eyes.

“Go to sleep, Knucklehead,” she told him. “I’m sure someone will be here when you wake up.”

God, he hadn’t heard that name in ages, since his mother, and hearing her say it was almost enough of a juxtaposition to wake him up. Only almost though, and within moments his world went dark.

 

“I feel like I’m draining some smuck dry,” Knuckle commented as he watched a tech hook up a new transfusion to his central line. Knuckle’s shirt was unbuttoned by a few buttons to allow access to the tube the tech was inserting the transfusion into.

“The chance that any of those bags came from the same person is extremely unlikely,” Shoot pointed out from the wheelchair he had been given with extreme reluctance. His eyes kept snapping over to Knuckle, studying his hunched position, the exhaustion in his face, the clamminess of his skin. The bandage he could just barely see under the shadow of his shirt. Then he would realize what he was doing and snap them away, only for it to repeat a moment later. Knuckle didn’t seem to notice, his eyes locked to the tube popping out of his chest.

It had taken a several hours of pushing from Morel to get him in here. As another patient they had been even less willing to risk exposure than they’d already been. His cast didn’t make it easier, difficult to properly decontaminate it had eventually been shoved into a bag.

Shoot had almost refused to go himself—terrified of ending up being Knuckle’s downfall—but he… he had needed to see Knuckle up and moving and alive—not still and bleeding like the last he had seen of him, and a window was just… so impersonal.

He had decided to avoid all physical contact though, gloves or not. Something he had thought would be harder to do than it had been – not because of him but because normally Knuckle was such a tactile person—with everyone.

He hadn’t account for Knuckle to seem to be too tired to get out of bed, or even shift around much. He still grinned, but even that looked tired.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that, but still.” With a yawn he hunched further into his pillows before finally looking over at him with his grin. “Good to see you up though, kinda.”

“Funny,” Shoot managed, trying to ignore the larger than already usually large bags under Knuckle’s eyes. He managed to catch his eye briefly before looking away.

Knuckle looked away as well and stroked his free hand through his hair. From the corner of his eye Shoot watched, eyes following the motion carefully. It was a rare sight, Knuckle without his hair waxed up. It was somewhat odd—it really hadn’t been cut to be down—and somewhat… something else as well, the kind of something that made his face hot and that he didn’t allow himself to think about. Knuckle brought his hand back, glanced at it and made a face. Shoot’s brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

With a scowl that was more a pout, Knuckle flipped his palm to him. Caught between his fingers were several strands of hair. Now that he was looking for it Shoot also noticed a few decorating his shoulders.

“I was really hoping that wouldn’t happen,” he whined, trying to cross his arms to put only to belatedly remember the IV. He slumped instead. “This sucks.”

“Yes, because losing some hair is the worst thing that could happen,” Shoot shot back after a moment of careful study.

“Well _duh_ , I can handle the transfusions and whatever but what would I be without my _hair_ ,” Knuckle agreed with a nod. He paused for a long moment then added, “Though I bet I’d look better bald than Knov does.”

Shoot’s lips curled and he shook his head with a slight sigh.

“What… you _know_ it’s true!”

Shoot didn’t bother to respond but his gaze softened and the anxious knot in his stomach finally loosened. To think he had been terrified to come in here—to see Knuckle—see him defeated and broken. He should have known better.

“I’m never not amazed by how strong you are,” Shoot admitted softly. Then his eyes widened as he realized he’d said that out loud.

Knuckle didn’t miss a beat.

“Thanks, I work out, your no slouch either.”

Shoot sighed, his face warm. He could let it go, but well, it had always been easier to be brave with Knuckle. “That’s… not what I meant.”

Knuckle’s smile grew a bit awkward and he glanced away. ”Well then, I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Shoot eyed him and his sudden mood change. “You’re handling this far better than most, almost as if you don’t realize…”

Knuckle sighed and shrugged. “Nah, I realize, more than you do.”

That was probably true. Once Knuckle was awake, being a rational, capable of making his own health decisions adult he had been told the odds the hospital had finally come up with. He had then requested the doctors tell nobody else, so that nobody focused and obsessed on some odds instead of what was actually happening he explained. Shoot couldn’t help but take that as a bad sign, but also recognized that Knuckle probably _would_ still do it for better odds so he couldn’t be certain, which was the whole point he supposed.

“I just figured I rather have been wrong and had as good of a time as I could, then spend the next few weeks or whatever miserable and weepy and then nothing—not exactly my style.” For a moment the look he had expected to see on Knuckle’s face when he was pushed in flashed by—and it hurt that he ultimately had been the one who caused it—but then it was gone and he was grinning again. “Not to say it’s all easy-peasy, my poor asshole will never be the same, I’m still shitting blue.”

Shoot imagined he had unintentionally made a face at that fact because Knuckle burst out in laughter. He huffed as the man tried to gain control of himself—winced as the laughter turned to coughs and the handkerchief he held was spackled with red—but sighed a bit as Knuckle simply grinned at him all the same.

Shoot couldn’t help but be in a bit of awe. Knuckle refused to believe he was going to die. He was facing this entire thing with far more cheer and humor than anyone had a right to. He was so strong. It was no wonder people were considering giving him a star.

For the first time he could truly believe Knuckle would be a 100% alright.

His smiled grew a bit as he watched Knuckle as a nurse quickly asked him a question. Knuckle made some kind of joke and the nurse giggled as she adjusted something and then moved to the other side of the room.

Then Knuckle looked back. Shoot quickly diverted his eyes but couldn’t stop his smile.

“What you smiling at?” Knuckle asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar. It’s my hair isn’t it? I know it looks stupid but they won’t let me have my wax.”

“I’m not.” Frankly, while a bit… dorky, Shoot couldn’t help find the oddly cut hair… charming, maybe.

“Yeah, right, sure.” Knuckle rolled his eyes. “The last twenty-four hours have been really weird, you know. I had a patent teacher-Morel talk and then Palm showed up with what ended up as probably the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Did she apologize?”

“Yeah, seems to think it’s all her fault.”

“I know. We’ve all tried to convince her otherwise.”

“I dunno if I managed, made her laugh though, so maybe?”

Shoot smiled at the idea. Knuckle truly could befriend anyone.

“I had a ‘patent-teacher Morel’ talk too.”

“Oh, what was yours about, mine was all. ‘Glad you’re awake, feel better, squeeze your shoulder,’ kind of one.”

 “He said he was proud of us.”

Knuckle froze, the smile on his face turning fake. “Proud of you, I’m sure, you did amazing.”

Shoot frankly disagreed but he was more concerned by that fake smile. “He said _both_ of us.”

“He was probably being nice,” Knuckle disregarded, picking imaginary lint off of the blanket on his lap. Shoot’s brows furrowed and his lip twitched. He shifted his chair so he had a better chance of catching Knuckle’s eye.

“There was no need to mention you at all, let alone to be _nice_. You weren’t _there_ ,” he refuted. Knuckle glanced up and flinched back in surprise at the stern glare Shoot had managed without thinking. “Why is that so hard to believe?” The idea that Knuckle, self-assured, boisterous Knuckle hadn’t known innately that Morel was proud of him when he _had_ was frankly mind boggling.

Knuckle blinked at him and then glanced away, lips out in a pout. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “considering I made about every mistake I could have, yeah, just a bit.”

Shoot’s glare softened but his brows furrowed more. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Knuckle suddenly spat, causing Shoot to flinch back wide-eyed. “Maybe when I got hit accidentally and ruined all the work I had managed with Potclean because I got to close worrying about you—” Shoot’s heart rate jumped—“Which was stupid since you were doing _awesome_. Or how about when I showed myself to him despite that being _against_ the plan. Or when I misjudged and ran to far away and he stopped chasing me and went back to you and you could have _died_ , or when I got pissed at his slight against you and decided I needed to punch him for revenge despite the fact that it was all but suicide and you needed immediate medical attention—”

“I appreciated that,” Shoot managed in a whisper. He had also not stopped him, not even tried despite knowing he should of. For Knuckle to regret that now, when the fact he had managed eight punches, all for _him_ apparently which still set a fluttering feeling in his chest that only Knuckle could manage—so different than the usual fluttering feeling he had to deal with—kind of… hurt.

Knuckle didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe ignored him. To absorbed in his self-decapitating rant. “—Or the fact I got suckered into a trap by the guy and his explosion and only survived thanks to Killua, or that I left you and when I came back and found you gone I was so enraged I wasn’t thinking and would have gotten myself killed _again_ if it hadn’t been for Morel, or that against his direct orders, knowing that it was wasting all our efforts and risking _everything_ , I gave up bankruptcy to save Morel. Or how about after he let us live I got attached to him, despite the fact he’d almost killed _you_ , and _Morel,_ and all of us moments before and was letting us live just because he could kill us easily, would if order too, or how I let Gon, a kid, leave alone with a Royal Guard, or how about how I stupidly stuck around longer than I should of and ended up getting captured by the King and now I’m stuck _here_ getting—”

“ENOUGH!”

Knuckle froze, and stared wide eyed at Shoot who huffed in his chair. He had never felt so angry before, let alone so angry at _Knuckle_ before. Frustrated, annoyed, a bit ticked, sure, but pure anger, _never_. Not even when he had stopped being so afraid of him. Their eyes caught. Knuckle nearly flinched away.

“Enough,” Shoot repeated quieter. “That’s not—your not—just _enough_.”

Knuckle stared for a long time. “But…” he finally managed.

“No!” Shoot closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Do you regret saving me?” he finally asked. “Do you regret saving Morel?”

When he opened his eyes again Knuckle’s eyes were wide in shock. “No, I, That’s not—you would have been—”

“You’re the reason Morel and I, maybe even Meleoron are _alive_ right now. If you hadn’t done what you did we’d be dead. That’s _it_.”

“But the plan—”

“Worked, probably better than expected even. Everyone but Netero _survived_ , Knuckle. That _really_ wasn’t expected.”

Knuckle stared longer, looked away a few time but couldn’t seem to keep his gaze away. Shoot stared back easily and waited. He saw the exact moment Knuckle closed off and shut down.

“No… you would have been fine without me.” He declared. Shoot tsked in frustration and Knuckle glared. Shoot glared back.

“Um… excuses me…”

The tension shattered and Shoot turned bright red as he turned his head to find a young nurse and a technician watching from the other side of the room. He had forgotten they had an audience.

“I’m sorry but… we really can’t have you stressing out our patient… perhaps you could leave and calm down and talk again later.” Her voice was weak but Shoot still shrunk in his seat out of mortification. He glanced back at Knuckle only to find him hunched and glaring at the wall. He swallowed a few times to find his voice.

“Yes, of course, I’ll leave right away,” he said weakly. But as he was wheeled out he took one last look at Knuckle, catching his glare and his pallid color and felt some resolve return.

He needed to find Morel.

 

Morel slid a hand down his face and somehow, with years of practice, did not dislodging his sunglasses. He let out a bone weary sigh. “He said all that.”

Shoot nodded tiredly from his bed. “Yes, nearly word to word.” It hadn’t been too hard to remember if hard to repeat. It had been looping through his head since that morning as he waited for Morel to return.

Morel sighed again. “Soft-hearted, stubborn fool,” he muttered before standing and stretching. “Don’t worry, I’ll speak with him.” He smiled slightly at Shoot who felt some tension leave his back. If anyone could get something through to Knuckle when he was being stubborn it was Morel. He had years of practice after all. Teen Knuckle had been even more stubborn then than now.

 

 

“Hey, kid.”

Knuckle glanced up slightly then looked away. He looked beat emotionally and physically.

“I heard you’ve been saying some things.”

He muttered something—Morel was pretty sure he heard the word ‘tattletale’ but he couldn’t be sure. He sighed at Knuckle’s stubbornness and just walked in and sat down.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Morel snorted.

“Don’t need to. I know what I did.”

“Sure, but I could use some enlightenment.”

Knuckle whipped his head around on his pillow and managed a rather impressive glare of frustration.

 “I got hit because I tried to help Shoot, then I gave up my cover to try and help him, I went back because I was so angry over the slight at Shoot that I wanted revenge when I knew It was all but impossible and Shoot needed immediate medical help, then I lost my head when I saw Shoot was gone and didn’t think things through, then I sacrificed bankruptcy for you even when you didn’t want it, and then I got attached to Youpi for letting us live despite the fact he had nearly killed you and Shoot and had been trying his hardest to kill me,” Knuckle muttered, eyes low and shoulder hunched as best he could lying as he was. “I let Gon go with Pitou, I stuck around longer then I should have, I…” he slumped, suddenly exhausted, his anger fading to misery.

Morel sighed heavily and Knuckle looked away, not wanting to see his expression.

“You _are_ too softhearted for the Hunter world sometimes,” he agreed. Knuckle sunk into himself. That had always been his problem. To soft-hearted, to conflicted, to rash, judgmental, to unwilling to really hurt anyone or thing—

“But frankly, I think the world would be a much better place if more Hunters were like _you_.”

Knuckle blinked twice as those words echoed throughout the room, and then stared up at Morel wide eyed.

“Don’t see your heart as a weakness, maybe sometimes it is, but it is also you greatest strength,” he told him. “Yes, I was angry you gave up bankruptcy for me—but I can’t say that if our positions were reversed I wouldn’t have done the same and things worked out, so in such I can’t say I regret that you did it. I am _glad_ to be alive, truly.” He smiled at him then as if sharing a joke and Knuckle had to look away. “And you didn’t do as bad as you think. Revealing your presence once Shoot was down kept Youpi busy and away for me or the kids. You realized the implications of his explosion and took advantage of it to speed up bankruptcy and if I’ve heard correctly, managed ten hits on him in total; no… make that eleven, I believe.”

Knuckle could hear the laugh in his voice at that.

“Only because of Meleoron and Killua and your help,” he refuted. “Shoot managed one on his own.”

“And he did well to, but there is no shame or weakness in teamwork. You should know that.” He patted his shoulder, urging him to look at him. Knuckle did grudgingly. “You knew when and how to take advantage of the options others gave you. You did your best in a situation that was as bad as any of us have _ever_ dealt with and something _none_ of us had trained for and you did so without compromising your morals. That’s something to be _proud_ of.”

He squeezed his shoulder. Knuckle tried to pretend his eyes weren’t tearing up. “I’m not saying you don’t have things to learn, of course you do, or that you’re not going to have to make tough decisions in the future—perhaps tougher for you than most, but you did _good_. I’m _proud_ of you.

At that, at the words Shoot had parroted but Knuckle hadn’t fully allowed himself to believe, the tears flooded over, snot dribbled down his lip and he let out a huge sob. Morel let go of him at once and waved his hands at him, his own eyes tearing up behind his glasses.

“No, stop, it’s fine, you’re going to set me off!” Tears started to drip down from under his glasses. Then he froze for a second. “Hey! Are your tears radioactive?”

“I-I d-don’t k-know,” Knuckle sobbed.

“Shit, I’m getting a doctor.”

 

“You look like shit.”

Morel didn’t bother to dignify that with any kind of response. Instead he kept staring through the window into the reverse isolation room. Knuckle was asleep, he hadn’t accidently poisoned Morel, and he looked small and pale and annoyingly reminded Morel of back when he was fourteen and had fallen down with pneumonia while he had been away because of a flood and stranded animals.

Shoot had gotten sick too—only a bad cold though— _he’d_ known how to dress properly for the weather.

With a sigh Morel pinched his nose and thumped hard onto the bench behind him. He allowed his arm to brush his neighbor as he muttered out, “I just want them to be healthy and happy dammit—why is that so hard.”

“Because they are complicated people and Hunters and you would have them no other way,” Knov replied resting a hand on his shoulder. “But it is hard when it’s your kids.”

It was quiet for a long moment.

“Not even going to argue?” Knov asked with some bemused surprise.

Morel sighed and rested his head in his hands instead. “To tired. I feel like I’ve still not made up for that week of not sleeping, and before you ask, no I’m _fine_ , or at least not radiated. Just _… tired_.”

When he had left his boys he had been so proud of them, so sure they would all get out of this fine and go drinking and get group hugs. Then he had to watch Shoot so small on his hospital bed, Knuckle who could not quite meet his eye—he should have _known_ that boy had taken his words far more to heart than he should have, and now this. Once Gon was cured everything was supposed to have gotten _better_.

Those stupid nightmares were supposed to go away.

Nightmares of death and destruction and failing.

Of Knov forcing himself to come only to freeze at the last, _worst_ moment and fall.

Of Gon and Killua, either or both lying in their own blood – kids who shouldn’t have _ever_ been there, their deaths forever on his conscious.

…

Or just… Shoot and Knuckle _gone._

He was a pro, he had been for over two decades now, he knew the risks, _they_ knew the risks. Death was a _very_ known acquaintance in their line of work.

But the idea of them having actually _died_ …

One of them could still die. As much as he tried to hide it Knuckle already looked weaker than he had yesterday.

“Hey,” the voice broke him to reality and Morel glanced over to find Knov frowning up at him from under the silly orange cap he had meant as a joke, and yet still made him feel warm whenever he saw him wearing it. The hand on his should squeezed once and Morel sighed and leaned just a tiny bit more on the offered arm.

“He’ll be fine, that’s what he keeps telling everyone isn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

Knov suddenly smirked and pushed up his glasses with his free hand. “Though if it makes you feel better, we can make a bet, I place ten thousand on him being back to normal by next May.”

Moral chuckled and took one long look at his boy. “Don’t underestimate him. He’ll be at least 90% back to normal by Christmas. Fifty thousand, and this time I’m not sharing it with you.”

“Hmph, giving yourself some leeway there, this isn’t an easy topic to judge in percent’s.”

“I have to, I know he’s going to injury himself at least twice pushing himself to far once he’s feeling a bit better, the leeway is necessary.”

“Why do you think I pushed to May?”

“Hmm, the safe move sure,” Morel grinned. “A bit uncharacteristic of you in fact.”

“Yes, well, I’m still hurting from the last one.”

“I told you it was a bad bet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They went silent again. This time it was a comfortable silence though.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you did a pretty good job.”

“Hmm.”

“On them.”

Morel snorted. “You make me sound old, brat. I’m only two years older than you.”

“You just called me a brat.” Knov smirked. “I rest my case.”

Morel butted him lightly with his shoulder with a snort. Knov allowed himself to bounce away exaggeratedly while chuckling. Morel grinned as Knov settled back exactly where had had been. Here and if not whole significantly more together than he had been even a week ago.

Maybe things weren’t any better than they had been a minute ago, but at least for now the future seemed a little brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell I come up with the best chapter names when burnt out after writing a seven chaptered fic (along with a three chapter fic and 5 oneshots) in a month... *Shifty eyes*
> 
> I honestly have no idea how to work out Palm. She made me really uncomfortable before her transformation but afterward she was more interesting and less creepy so I tried to play with that. 
> 
> I'm also really annoyed that they never showed Palm and Knov seeing each other for the first after her transformation, or how Morel and Knuckle interact after Morel's scolding. So I tried to play with that here--abliet I have no idea how to write Knov and Palm interacting so I've kind of put that in the background. Maybe I'll write it as a oneshot some time.


	3. Family Matters

“Stay awake, kid.”

Knuckle snorted and then winced as it irritated his raw throat. At least it hadn’t restarted his nosebleed. “I think you can handle it,” he grumped hoarsely eyes already closing. “Just come back later. You’re practically living here now with Shoot and me stuck here—Knov needing those treatments—” he yawned out of his sleepy rant and blinked and realized he wasn’t sure where he left off—or said. “Ima tired,” he complained.

“Yes, yes, but not for me, you have some visitors.”

Knuckle’s brows furrowed despite his drooping lids. “Palm can wait too.”

“No, not Palm, not right now anyway.”

“…Is Shoot finally coming back?” He still felt a little guilty. First time seeing him and they had argued—probably scared him off. It’s been days since then. …He thought. He was having a hard time keeping track really. He slept so much and had no windows. Still the idea had him pushing himself up on the pillows.

“No, but he’ll be here later, had some trouble convincing them it was safe to let him visit,” Morel stated in the way that meant that was true but something else was up too. Knuckle narrowed his eyes but let it go for now.

“Is Meleoron finally getting to move in?” It was lonely here in this reverse isolation room, and the two had been separated at first to assure if one of them did get sick the other wouldn’t. And low-behold Meleoron had come down with a cold turned nasty. Last he heard he was doing alright despite the difficulties of helping someone with an entirely new biology. He was hoping once he was through with that, and they knew that neither of them could get the other sick anymore, they’d be roomed in together. It was lonely; especially since he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t had a roommate.

“Wrong again, though were hoping in the next few days.”

Knuckle sighed and debated giving up and just going to sleep. But Morel had that smug grin on that always boiled his blood… or lightly simmered it today… he _really_ wasn’t feeling good.

“Uh… Has Gon and them come to visit?” He reached. Morel shook his head.

“No, we haven’t… told them yet, they finally seemed happy after everything and things are looking fine for now.”

“Of course thing are fine. I’ll be fine,” Knuckle agreed, glad _someone_ was finally listening to him. He shimmed down his pillow and allowed his eyes to drift close. “But I give up, who are these mysterious visitors that I can’t tell to come back later when I don’t feel like death—”

A soft gasp cut him off and Knuckle’s eyes snapped open, tiredness fleeing at the shock.

An older woman stood before him, dark hair tied back firmly, face lined and weathered by years of hard work but her eyes crinkled with laughter, though she wasn’t laughing now. She was wearing the scrubs they provided for people getting decontaminated to see him but Knuckle could imagine the worn Sunday best she would have been in otherwise.

“Mama,” Knuckle breathed. That broke the trance and she stepped forward to gently cup his cheeks.

“Oh, my poor baby boy.”

“Mama,” Knuckle repeated again both in shock and tears. His eyes slipped past her shoulder—originally intended for Morel—but instead fell on a slightly stooped woman who caught his gaze and smiled softly from under her lifespan of wrinkles. “Nana.”

His eyes drifted back to his mother as she kissed his forehead. She frowned. “You have a fever.”

Knuckle just stared. “…How?”

“Your teacher called us. He even paid for the trip.”

“He did?” He tried to glance at Morel but found him gone. Sneaky bastard. “Why— _Ow_!”

His eyes snapped down the bed to where his Nana was scowling at him. She hadn’t actually hurt him, the whack on his foot had been surprisingly light from what he remembered but he still shrunk like a little boy under her glare. “Yes, _he_ did, because _someone_ didn’t feel the need to do it himself.”

Knuckle looked away. “I didn’t want to worry you, I’ll be fine—” he coughed, winced as a little blood dribbled with it and quickly reached for a handkerchief. His mother let out a soft gasp. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m getting transfusions and it’ll stop eventually, I’m just a bit… anemic at the moment is all.”

“If being a _little anemic_ is causing that then every woman of childbearing age would be dead thrice over,” Nana told him dully.

Knuckle winced. “Yeah… I might also have low white blood cells and palates right now… but the transfusions help, and my odds are even better than they were a couple of days ago. I’ll be _fine_ … It’ll just take a little while.”

“And what are your odds?” his mother asked, standing up straight. “You teacher told me only you knew them; asked the doctors not to share.”

Knuckle looked away. “They’re not _that_ bad, I just didn’t want everyone dwelling on a number…”

“Knuckle…”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m not lying. I _promise._ ”

Ms. Bine sighed but then smiled softly. “You sure have grown,” she mused. “Yes, of course you’ll be fine, you’ve always had been… eventually.” She stroked a hand through his hair and then paused. “Oh?”

Knuckle groaned. He could guess. Nana began crackling. “It’s not funny, Nana,” he pouted. “My poor hair.”

“Join the club, boy,” she snickered, settling herself down on one of the visitor benches. She touched her own head. Hidden by one of those doctor caps Knuckle knew was the thin remnants of her own hair. “Though I wish I could say you look better now without all that silly gel…”

Knuckle pouted more. “It’s not cut to be down,” he grumbled. Nana crackled more. “ _Mama_ , Nana is being mean again.”

“You’re a big boy now Knuckle,” Ms. Bine laughed. “I think you can handle it.”

Knuckle pouted harder.

 

“Your being a coward,” Palm greeted blandly as she collapsed on the chair next to his bed. Shoot bit his lip but didn’t refute her, just stared at his lap. He was always a coward after all. “You do realize he _wants_ to see you, right? He keeps asking. And don’t try that bullshit about them waiting to keep you separate, Morel could fix that in a moment if you pushed.”

Shoot didn’t respond, just hunched into his shoulders and tried to control his breathing.

Palm sighed. “I’m not trying to… well I _am_ trying to scold you, I guess…but, just, what’s _wrong_?”

Shoot sighed seeing no way out of it. Palm, if nothing else, was still as stubborn as always. “It’s just… last time I saw him we argued.”

Palm leaned back, seeming pleased. “So what? He say some stupid things then.”

“No… well _, yes_ , but not about _me_.” Shoot glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “He seems to have convinced himself that he made a bunch of mistakes during the battle – and it’s bothering him as much as he’s pretending he’s fine.”

“Well that sucks, sounds like him, but sucks, but why is that stopping you from seeing him?”

Shoot sucked in a breath through his teeth. “He got really upset and…most of those ‘mistakes’ ended up involving… _me_ —”

“Oh my god, _don’t_ you start. If I’m not allowed to blame myself, then you’re not either. I _will_ get Morel to talk with you too.”

“ _Don’t_ , and how do you even _know_ about that.”

Palm shrugged. “I don’t know details but I may have… heard some things.”

Shoot shot her a glare. She grinned. “There’s some spirit.” Shoot glared harder. “Seriously though, is _that_ really what’s bothering you?”

Shoot glanced away and studied the tree outside the window. “I don’t like that he’s upset because of me. I don’t want to argue again.”

Palm huffed. “So it’s _not_ the only thing.”

Shoot was quiet for a while longer. As he thought he slowly wrapped his arm around himself. “I just… I don’t know… I’m just… _terrified_.”

“You faced Youpi practically alone and you’re terrified of _Knuckle?_ He cries at puppies, _frequently_.”

“I _said_ I don’t know why,” Shoot snapped, surprising himself. He blinked twice before huffing and turning to Palm more fully. “But I’m not _scared_ of _him_. I’m just—”

“Scared of something dealing with him,” Palm finished looking intrigued and contemplative, “or maybe not really scared but extremely nervous.” She raised an eyebrow slowly. “Do you _really_ not know why, or are you just hiding from it?”

Shoot glanced away and didn’t say anything.

“…Because I could tell you if you don’t.”

“Palm.”

“Because your little crush really wasn’t that subtle—”

“Palm!”

“Alright, alright,” Palm raised her hands in surrender though she looked even more intrigued. Shoot’s cheeks burned more than they ever had. “But you do know you don’t have to _tell_ him to go _see_ him. He’s an oblivious idiot. I doubt he’ll pick it up even if you’re having trouble hiding it.”

Shoot just stared at his lap again.

“You do realize he’s asking for you right? He wants to see you. It’ll make his day.”

“We’re not even friends…” Shoot muttered.

_“What?”_

Shoot sighed. “Back when… back when I was twenty one… we had this conversation… and just, it ended up with me telling him I didn’t see him as a friend.”

Palm stared openly. Shoot refused to look her way.

“Twenty-one? Shoot that was _seven_ years ago – are you telling me that Knuckle would really—”

“Knuckle is really sensitive about other people’s feelings on that kind of thing. He wouldn’t ever _consider_ someone something if they said different unless they said otherwise later.” He picked at a loose string. “So I don’t understand why he wants to see me so bad.”

Palm snorted and glanced at the ceiling as if looking for strength. “I think you’re both idiots,” she told him frankly. “First of all, just because he refuses to say or think the word about you, do you _really_ think Knuckle doesn’t still care just as much about you anyway? Also twenty-one? The two of you were together for like, seven years before then, how did you see him as _not_ a friend?”

“It was easier to not be,” Shoot muttered. “It was easier to not be close to people.” And frankly it hadn’t even been a lie. His dumb crush had been around for over a decade now. Part of him hadn’t wanted to be friends… or at least not _just_ friends.

Part of him still didn’t.

Palm snorted. “Is it still easier?”

Shoot stared at the thread for a long moment. “I… don’t know.”

Palm snorted again and leaned forward, managing to catch Shoot’s eye. “Yeah, sure, how about this. Forget about your other feelings for now,” Shoots face instantly warmed again. “And go visit the poor sod and tell him you’re his friend. If your right, it’ll really make his day… and frankly I think he could use some day making.”

Shoot’s brows instantly furrowed in concern. Palm sighed. “From what I’ve heard he’s been bleeding a lot, especially in his throat, and struggling to keep food down so he’s throwing up a lot too, which isn’t a fun mix I bet, but his chances seem to actually be better than before, so don’t worry too much.”

Shoot sighed in relief for a second, but then frowned as he thought over that. “Chances…” he glared at Palm again. “You _know_ his chances don’t you.”

Palm looked away.

“He didn’t want anyone to know!”

“Then they really should have been more secretive.”

“Palm!”

“Alright, alright, I won’t do it again. I was just worried.”

“So are the rest of us,” Shoot snapped. And then slumped and rubbed at his temples. “Just… don’t _tell_ anyone and don’t do it again… or I _will_ tell Knuckle.”

“Sure.”

_“Palm.”_

“Alright, alright, I promise.” She smirked at him. “If you promise to set an appointment to see him.”

Shoot glared, too frustrated to be nervous. “ _Fine._ ”

 

Shoot almost wished Palm hadn’t soon disappeared after that. Maybe then the frustration would have lasted and his heart wouldn’t have been pounding, or the static wouldn’t be hissing in his ears and down his arm as he was wheeled from the decontaminating room towards Knuckle’s.

It was stupid. It was _Knuckle_. Knuckle didn’t scare him. Knuckle hadn’t scared him since he’d been fifteen.

It was Knuckle, who he had known since he was fourteen, who had only ever once looked as bad before—and he had almost died then too—and who he’d been pretending he didn’t care about for nearly as long.

Knuckle who was too much of a respectful idiot and wouldn’t _dare_ consider someone in a relationship if they said otherwise, even if that relationship was friendship.

Knuckle, who fought with him in near sync, who had learned, and discussed, and trained alongside of him for fourteen years, Knuckle who wasn’t afraid to call him out but also listened when he—it was always so much easier with him—called him out right back. Knuckle, who nearly died for him, for his honor _and_ his life, for revenge of his life, several times during the battle less than a month ago.

Knuckle, of whom he had been well aware of if ignoring his attraction to for _years_.

Palm was right. Knuckle cared about him just as much as he would have anyway, even if he pretended—probably honestly believed— he didn’t.

Shoot was an idiot.

And a cowerd.

But if nothing else he could get the courage to let him know, if nothing else that Knuckle was Shoot’s friend.

That he cared.

…

Shoot was an idiot. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like Knuckle would take it badly. He _knew_ this. He _knew_ Knuckle. Palm was right, it would probably make Knuckle’s day. He loved having friends as tough as he liked to pretend to be.

It wasn’t like they were going to argue again… right…

Right…

“Here we are!” The nurse pushing him, a cheery kind of girl who had been happily chattering since she had come to pick him up from his room, declared as his door came in sight. Guilt hit him as he couldn’t remember a thing she had said—or even her name. “Now since you’re not family or next-of-kin you only have an hour for now, but when he gets a bit better we’ll see of increasing that. Poor boy’s been very lonely, I think? He always perks up when the nurses visit. Charmer too more than a few of the nurses have crushes, always fighting for this position, John and Nancy in particular—” that statement made Shoot smiles slightly, that sounded like Knuckle. “I’m glad his family has finally made it though, they can stay longer.”

Shoot’s smile slowly faded as she stopped to step ahead and open the door to the airlock. Family? He knew Knuckle had some kind of one out their somewhere—he wrote letters to them occasionally and even in the beginning when all they had was the monthly allowance Morel gave them he had been sending money, but nothing else. So who—

“Hello Knuckle, I see you’re extremely popular today,” She greeted as the airlock opened. Knuckle glanced up from where he had been semi-leaning on an older woman – Shoot could instantly see the resemblance—the nose, hair, brows, strong shoulders and jaw—and another woman, much older than either of them, turned her head from the foot of the bed to see who had come in.

Any courage Shoot had managed to gather fled with their tails between their legs. He hadn’t thought he would have an _audience_ … an audience he didn’t even _know_.

Knuckle blinked once… then grinned, tiredly but truly, at him—and the anxiety that had frozen him backed away. Still there, but for a moment… manageable.

“Shoot! You came! Morel didn’t say you were coming!”

Of course he didn’t. Bastard.

“Alright dear, I’ll be back in an hour,” the nurse said as she pushed him to the other side of the foot of Knuckle’s bed. He was only feet away from the older lady who was looking at him quizzically. He suddenly desperately wished he had two arms so he could wheel himself around. He swallowed. “Have fun!”

She left. Shoot belatedly realized he hadn’t answered Knuckle.

“Ah… yeah, they were worried about my…cast.” He explained in an uncomfortable mummer.

Knuckle rolled his eyes—tired, red eyes—good naturedly. “Like a cast would do me in.”

The lady, one of Knuckle’s grandmothers Shoot could only assume, cleared her throat and then to Shoot’s surprise, swatted at his blanketed foot. “I see you’ve learned no manners since the last I’ve seen you,” she scolded.

“Nana!” Knuckle pouted. The woman next to him, who had a hand in his hair Shoot noticed, laughed a little and shook her head.

“I’m Ana Bine, Knuckle’s mother,” she introduced when it became obvious that Knuckle and his nana were too busy with their staring contest to say anything more. “And that is my mother Trudy, though she’d certainly tell you to call her Nana.”

“You would to if your name was Gertrude,” Nana Bine snorted in response.

“I’m Shoot McMahon, Morel’s fellow student,” Shoot introduced, feeling both calmer and shakier at that information. He took a slow breath through his nose and with a quick glance to Knuckle continued, “and Knuckle’s... friend.”

Knuckle’s eyes instantly jumped from his grandmothers to Shoot’s, wide and full, and at Shoot’s answering gaze he grinned brighter than seemed possible with how thin his face had already gotten. Shoot’s stomach dropped and flew at that smile, and he smiled back shakily.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ms. Bine smiled. She stood and walked the few steps to offer her hand. Shoot winced slightly, with the scrubs he was wearing it wasn’t instantly obvious he was one armed but up close—but she didn’t even seem to flinch as he hesitantly offered his hand to shake. “Knuckle has all but written a book about you.”

“MOM!” Knuckle gasped and his grandmother started cackling. Shoot felt his face warm, but his stomach… flip differently than he was used to. “I’ve been living with him since I was _thirteen_ , of _course_ I wrote a lot about him, don’t make it sound _weird.”_

“Of course, Knuckle, I’m sorry,” she soothed, but the slight curl of her lips told Shoot she was more amused than not. Still she turned back to Shoot with a warmth in her eyes that made Shoot’s breath catch. He had never seen that before, certainly his mother had never looked at him that way, and he suddenly was extremely glad Knuckle had her.

“Thank you.”

Shoot blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Thank you, reading between the lines of Knuckle’s letters it sounds like you’ve been keeping him out of _too_ much trouble and alive for years, so thank you.”

“Mom,” Knuckle groaned, face going pink. “I’ve been keeping _myself_ alive, thank you.”

“Sure you have, boy,” his Nana snorted. He glared.

Suddenly feeling a need to… to explain, Shoot barged in awkwardly before more fond insults could be thrown. “It’s mutual I assure you.” Unable to stop himself he found himself catching Knuckle’s eyes as he continued. “Knuckle saved my life several times in the last battle.”

For a second it was quiet, Knuckle’s face went even redder and Shoot suddenly had to look away certain his face was the same. Knuckle might have considered them mistakes but he… he was grateful. “And he saved our teacher once as well.” He continued, unable to help himself.

Nana sighed. “Well deep down he _is_ a good boy.”

“…Why do you sound _upset_ about that?”

Shoot only half listened to them as Ms. Bine was studying him: his cast and his head wrap, other bandages that still poked out here and there, probably his lack of left arm as well—though perhaps she had known about that already, probably in fact, as she hadn’t even looked surprised.

“Well, I don’t know much about this battle,” she started.

“It’s classified, Mom,” Knuckle tried to defend, but she waved her hand.

“No, no I understand that, I’m not looking for details.” She smiled warmly at him and then back at Shoot, just the same way. He felt himself go warm but… not in a bad way. “I’m just glad you’re alright, both of you.”

Her smile then turned a little more teasing as she leaned back over to Knuckle and pecked him on the cheek. “My little hero.”

“Mom, _really?_ ” Knuckle complained like he was seventeen instead of twenty-seven. Shoot smiled slightly at the sight. From what he knew Knuckle had spent very little time with them since he was a child, so maybe it wasn’t so different.

The rest of the hour passed by quickly. Shoot wouldn’t have called it the most comfortable experience, or the nicest, but it wasn’t bad either. For the most part they chatted, bickered sometimes amongst themselves, allowing him to stay on the sidelines but never fully ignoring him either. He wasn’t sure if that was accidental or if they were just that observant but… he appreciated it.

Knuckle also smiled at him whenever they caught each other eyes, looking happy despite the exhaustion lining his face. Happy because of him.

He… appreciated that too.

 

“So, you in love with that boy?”

Knuckle choked on his hospital mush, and stared up in horror at his nana sitting near the end of his bed working on some knitted project of hers. She wasn’t looking at him.

“Well?”

He glanced between his mother, eating her own, much nicer looking meal and his Nana knitting away. He’d been thinking… maybe, of talking to his mother alone about this… _maybe_ , but to get called out by Nana…

“I’m…” he swallowed and grimaced at the annoyingly familiar metallic taste. “I’ve been attracted to… a few men before.”

“Hmph, why are you being coy, did you really think I would disapprove? I’d be a totally hypocrite.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“What? Did you think Ol’Janey, may she rest in some peace, was just _my friend,_ did you?”

“…some peace?” Knuckle continued lamely.

“She was never one for peace, got bored easy that wild girl, and don’t change the subject, boy, frankly I’m insulted.”

“I’m… sorry, I… didn’t know.”

“Hmph, I suppose that’s what happens when you run away before I get my hands on you for the good ol’birds and bees talk.”

Knuckle considered that weakly. Maybe the talk he had gotten from Morel hadn’t been the most embarrassing thing in the world… maybe he had dodged a bullet. “Yeah…”

“So are you in love with him or not?”

“I…I…” Knuckle sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a little… new.”

“Hmph, good then there’s a chance you won’t be breaking his poor heart, he seems like a nice boy, will keep you in line.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what he does, heh… wait, _what_ did you say?”

“Nana, enough.”

“What, this Knucklehead has always been an oblivious idiot; I had to do _something_ for that poor boy, seemed a bit skittish.”

“ _Nana_.”

“No really, what… what do you _mean?_ ”

“If you can’t figure that out on your own boy you truly are hopeless.”

“Nana!”

 

Knuckle browsed through the squeaky clean phone he’d finally been given, stopping on a rumor thread on the hunter’s website. It wasn’t new, Morel possibly getting a 2 or even 3 star was pretty much everywhere, even on the civilian net. He grinned slightly anyway. To become a two star you needed to have a student reach one star level – and Shoot more than deserved that after Youpi.

“Whatcha looking at,” Meleoron asked from nearby. Knuckle glanced over at the tired looking ant and new roommate with a shrug.

“You know that rumor that Morel is going to go up in stars?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned, don’t really get what it means though.”

“Ah, right, well when you become a hunter you’re a 0-star nobody, haven’t proven yourself or anything. Afterwards if you do really good work in a specific field—a Sea Hunter for Morel—you get a 1 star rating—it’s shown on your license—Morel got his for stopping this huge piracy empire, it was _great_.

“On the other hand to go up to two stars it a bit more difficult. First a hunter needs to have trained a student up to a one star, second they need to hold an official position in the agency – that’s the part Morel hates – and third, of course, they need to have a 1 star.

“Then for three stars that comes from the above, with the addition of having done great feats in _multiple_ fields. In Morel’s case that would be as a Sea Hunter and as a Beast Hunter – that’s what this last mission fell under. So really it’s just the whole official position thing holding Morel back—he doesn’t like the idea of being tied down—if they want him to accept it their going to have to find a position that will let him be away at sea ten months of the year, more or less. Though maybe he’ll get away with just being a Nen trainer, that’s what Bisky, that one girl who came to see Gon, is and he did pretty well with Shoot and me.”

Meleoron stared at him for a bit, his tongue flickering out twice in thought before he asked, “But what about the student to one star thing, do you or Shoot have a star? Does he have other students?”

“Nah, but I’m betting Shoot might be in line for one if their thinking of pushing up Morel. He’d deserves it to after his fight with Youpi.”

“He did well,” Meleoron agreed but tilted his head. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t think you might get a star. You were there too.”

Knuckle opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it and shook his head. “Nah, Shoot’s a dead shot. I’ll just have to work harder.”

Meleoron eyed him but then shrugged and let it drop collapsing back onto his pillow. “Man, what I would do for a light.”

“You’re really going to have to give that up now, you know.”

“Hmph, like I have a choice, it’s been over a weak now, frankly I think that’s the worst of it.”

“Can’t say I’m not glad I don’t have to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“Yeah, lucky you.” Meleoron groaned, attempted a vague stretch and gave up half-way with a wince. “I heard you had more visitors—you parents was it?”

“My Mom and Nana, yeah.” Knuckle stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t really… want them to see me like this… but I’m glad to see them anyway. You’ll probably meet them soon. It took forever to convince them to go to the hotel and sleep. That might be… interesting.”

Meleoron hummed in response seemingly lost in thought.

“You okay?”

“Hmm, oh yeah… just wondering… what Peggy would think seeing me like this.”

“Oh right… that was your… foster dad was it?”

“More or less, yeah, it took me in when I had no other place to go.” Meleoron smirked faintly. “He was a good guy. Loved to know things and read, was more or less a pacifist – even as an ant he never killed anyone—though he’d been less… against others killing of course.” The smile fell off his face. “I just wish… I had more memories of him, _either_ him. I never really spent any time with him as an ant before… and the memories before then are… limited.”

Knuckle considered that and looked away. He didn’t offer consolation, he didn’t think Meleoron would want it. “That sucks.” He finally went with after a bit. “I kinda… we don’t really _acknowledge_ it but…”

He sighed. “I don’t know my dad. Honestly I don’t even know if he died or fucked off, I never bothered to ask or care, but… Morel has kind of been… he took me in when I was in a bad place and couldn’t go back to my Mom and Nana, and maybe I turned out okay but I was defiantly a fixer-upper at first too. He didn’t have to, he already had a student, Shoot, and if he wanted another he’d been better off grabbing someone who already had a license, that’s what most people do to get a second star, but… he _did_.”

Meleoron smiled a bit. “I haven’t talked with him much but he seems like a pretty nice guy.”

Knuckle smiled and closed his eyes. “Yeah… he really is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Knuckle and Shoot are both completely convinced the other is going to get a star.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Steps Towards Recovery

Knuckle wasn’t getting better.

He wasn’t exactly speeding towards death either but every blood test came back worse, every day he was more tired, more lethargic, losing weight by the pound, struggling enough with eating do to the irritation in his throat and stomach that from Palm Shoot had heard there was talk of putting him on a tube if he didn’t turn around soon.

He still tried to be cheery when Shoot—anyone Shoot imagined—went to see him, but it was more and more obvious a mask by the day. His frustrations, and misery, and pure exhaustion more obvious by the day.

He never snapped at anyone. Never let that barely masked emotion out. Shoot just wished he _would._

Shoot didn’t know how acute radiation syndrome worked. Even when going into a battle knowing far well that if Netero couldn’t remove the king plan B involved dropping roses on his head he hadn’t felt the need to inform himself. No need tor raise his anxiety any more than it had already been – and the chance of any of them surviving that was basically zero anyway.

Now a part of him—a sick curiosity—poked at him by the hour. His phone was at his side, his laptop on his lap—he _could._ All it would take was a search engine and three words.

A greater, if only just, part of him stopped himself each time –a part that remembered to respect Knuckle’s wishes, that told him he didn’t need to torture himself over something like this—that it would help no one let alone himself or Knuckle…

The part that was terrified about what he would find.

And yet the urge bugged him by the hour. Sometimes to the point he’d catch himself staring at a blank search engine page before suddenly searching something inane, or current news like about the Kakin Empire and Beyond Netero, or a new book to read—new zoological reports and rumors—silly animal pictures and videos Knuckle would like— _anything_.

Frankly it never distracted him for long. The texts Knuckle sent did better—but they were quickly coming less and less as much as he –jittery, statically, hard to breath, think—tried to not think too much into that. He was tired—sleeping, he simple didn’t feel the need to text. _Shoot_ had never started a conversation after all.

Part of him desperately wanted to—but he couldn’t get his fingers to hit send—what if he was sleeping, what if he was busy, what if he didn’t want him to—

They were friends now, it was Knuckle—of _coarse_ he would want him to.

…

He still might be sleeping though. He was so _tired._

“Dear, are you alright?”

Shoot jolted from his thoughts, flinching up from his laptop—the video was finished, _when_ did it finish—to stare wide eyed at his door. Nana Bine stood there looking concerned.

“I’m… I’m alright,” he offered through a swallow as his heart settled a little—only a little—in his chest.

She stared at him for a long moment, face soft and concerned in a way that made Shoot squirm in uncertainty—then she closed her eyes with a snort. “Bullshit, boy.”

Shoot started. “What?”

“You’re not okay and I don’t expect you to be.” She opened her eyes to give him a stern look that despite it all just made Shoot flabbergasted instead of nervous. “From what I can gather within the last month you’ve been in battle, nearly lost your life, your teacher nearly lost his life, you’ve been cooped up in a hospital worrying about someone _else’s_ life. You have to wait to see if your leg will heal properly or not, have to deal with my idiot grandson going and getting himself radiation poisoning with another friend of his, and now have to wait and see where _that_ goes _helplessly_. If your fine after all that I’d eat my hat.” She quite huffily gestured with the knitted hat in her hand for emphasis. Shoot couldn’t help but feel she would in fact attempt to eat the hat if he said he was fine again.

Shoot blinked twice and then glanced away sheepishly, though he couldn’t help the slight smile. “I… That’s not necessary, thank you.”

“Hmph, don’t know what your thanking me for,” she grumbled as she wandered in and took a seat next to his bed. He watched her bemused. “Unless your thanking me for good sense—you young ones never seem to have enough of it.”

Shoot eyed her for a long moment debating words to himself. “I—how did—why are—” her snort cut him off before a proper, and polite, response could be made.

“Knuckle’s getting a test done and all but exiled us from his room—wanted us to eat and sleep and other such nonsense—” Shoot quirked a lip, like grandmother like grandson sense and all it seemed. She pulled out her knitting, seemingly deciding on making herself comfortable. “Ana is getting some food down in the cafeteria until were gone long enough to appease him but I wasn’t hungry and Knuckle had mentioned your room number.”

“Ah—” That answered and didn’t answer his question. Shoot hovered over that fact trying to find a way to move things forward.

“As for _why_ —well he mentioned how he used to visit you daily, and how he was worried you were lonely—I figured I’d check up on you in his stead, perhaps give him some comfort.”

Shoot face burned at that and he automatically glanced at his phone to try and hide it.

“I see it was a good idea.” She wasn’t looking at him—he could tell—focused fully in her work. “Frankly dear, you didn’t look so good when I came in.”

Shoot swallowed—still staring at his phone. Staring at Knuckle’s last text—a simple emoji.

He’d been like this as far as he could remember – one of his earliest memories was something he now recognized as a panic attack not that he remembered _what_ had set it off. He honestly had no idea if it was a product of his childhood—or something he’d been born with. Ever since Morel took him in he’d gotten better in fits and starts—if nothing else better at working through it, talk himself out of cycles, do what had to be done no matter how he felt, longer periods between actual panic attacks—but some days were always easier than others, and these last weeks had been – hard.

Considering everything it was probably understandable, but that didn’t mean he had to _like_ it.

That said… he did… feel significantly better for now. The staticky feeling that clung to his thoughts and throat and heart had dimmed to nothing—he was nervous, a bit uncomfortable perhaps, but nothing extreme in any sense.

“Better now,” he admitted softly.

She simply hummed at him. “Good.” She then paused in her knitting and gave him a careful look. Shoot worked to not tense at it and tried to keep his gaze focused on the screen of his laptop. Somewhat of an obvious effort as all it had to offer was a finished video.

“He cares about you, you know.”

Shoot’s stomach swooped and warmed—and that warmth immediately surged up his neck and into his cheeks and ears. Beside him she chuckled slightly as Shoot tried to pretend that hadn’t affected him—hadn’t surprised him.

“Knuckle cares for almost everyone and everything,” he managed. Nana Bine snorted and went back to her knitting.

“ _That_ I know—the amount of time his mother and I had to nurse him back to health from one scape or another in the name of his friends, or an animal in need, or a stranger desperate—” she sounded exasperated, exasperated but fond with a small smile playing on her lips. “All the way up to that time he punched that cop for a boy he barely knew—” Shoot snapped to look at her brows high. Punched a _cop?_

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, that asshole of a thug in uniform deserved it, harassing that poor boy—but oh did he leave us worrying…” she trailed off, her eyes losing focus, seeing something he couldn’t—something in a past he didn’t share.

Or know.

It occurred to him, only then, that he had no idea how Knuckle had gone from these loving people to indebted to a gang leader. Why he had stayed with Morel and not returned to them. Three days ago he had barely known Knuckle had family at all out there that he still cared for. Shoot certainly didn’t care for his.

He really didn’t know anything at all of Knuckle before he trudged into his life behind Morel, tense and crass with the biggest chip on his shoulder and a bigger heart fourteen years ago.

Shoot couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest at that thought. It almost felt like wasted time—but he wasn’t sure if he could fix that. Would Knuckle even want to share?

Would he be able to return the favor if he did.

It wasn’t necessary—they weren’t the people they were as children—the past was the past, but even so…

“You care about him too.”

Shoot was again snapped back into focus. Nana Bine had once more stopped knitting and was simply watching him, face unreadable.

He should have felt nervous—embarrassed—anxious under her gaze… and he did, but it was distant, noise of traffic behind a window—voices talking from down the hall.

“Yes.”

Nana Bine searched his face and seemed to find what she was looking for—and suddenly Shoot hesitated and wondered what he had just admitted, but she simply turned back to her knitting once more with a hum under her breath.

They sat quietly for a while. Eventually the last of the tension snapped and Shoot returned to his laptop—skipping the videos now in respect to his visitor and going back to a new report on Cave Tigers. His heart panged a little when he noticed the main author of the paper—even if he wasn’t—kinda— _not_ dead? Shoot wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

He hadn’t known the man—just known the hurt of a thirteen year old surrounding him.

He refocused and tried not to overthink it—not now—not while he had company and the atmosphere was simple and calm and peaceful.

All the while Nana Bine hummed and knitted.

 

Shoot stared at his phone. He typed—deleted—and then retyped before huffing to himself and just hitting send.

_Your Nana visited me._

Within moment his phone was buzzing.

_Let me apologize now…_

Shoot snorted—and that snort crumbled into a laugh.

 

Knuckle had been—perhaps belatedly—worried about how his mother and grandmother would take meeting a walking talking octopus and chameleon—one of whom was just as sick as he.

He was also worried—not belatedly, he’d worried about this as soon as his family _appeared_ —of them meeting Palm—not about the scales or orb, oh no, just about the pure horror of his grandmother and Palm getting along.

They would get along. He _knew_ it.

And he was _right_. Thankfully his family had taken to the others just as well. A little bemused, a little confused, but shrugging it off quick enough.

He was glad—he didn’t want to lose his new roommate.

That didn’t stop his flinch every time Palm or his nana or both laughed from their corner of his room, often time accompanied by peeks over to him. He was starting to grumpily think they were doing it just to see his flinch, which was not in any way nice and sounded just like them.

His mother on the other hand had taken to mothering over Meleoron—the news he didn’t have any real family having spurred her on to his befuddlement. Knuckle was too busy being amused to offer any real help. He’d said he missed Peggy after all. It would be good for him.

With his family busy Ikalgo had sat next to him—seemingly unconcerned about his lack of energy to do much talking and showed him pictures Killua had sent him of places he’s been and weird and often time hilarious things he’d seen.

There was a whole collection of hats – potential replacements for Knov—ugly and hilarious and silly hats—which made him his favorite rugrat ever. Shoot could have Gon.

He still really wasn’t sure how to handle that kid anyway. Two weeks of spending time at his death bed staring at nothing but bandages wrapped around to thin limbs, lost in guilt for letting him go off alone— the kid he’d all but trained—a _child_ with a _royal guard_ of all things… then running off before a proper nurse could even check him, running off without a real goodbye.

…

He mentioned his joy to Ikalgo, whom grinned and typed and within moments Killua was bombarding his phone with his entire collection of “Better than his current one,” hats with promise of more. He seemed gleeful that someone appreciated them as much as he did, even more so when Knuckle promised to send the best ones to Knov himself. Knuckle laughed hoarsely—managed to not even cough at the end and grinned up at Ikalgo before looking through them—looking for the best ones to bombard Knov’s phone with for today. It had been awhile since he’d pulled a prank on that man—he needed a good dose now and again or he got to serious and uptight and he couldn’t do that to Morel.

His grin faltered for a moment—the kids still didn’t know about… Meleoron and him. He chewed on his cheek before grimacing as it bled far too easily and stopped. Part of him felt like he should tell them—that it was a betrayal not to…

The other part of him his said no. he didn’t want people worrying about him. He didn’t want _kids_ worrying about him. Not Gon who had only just recovered himself—who seemed to have gotten his cheer back after Kite—not Killua who was probably still recovering from watching Gon lay there as well as from the battle itself.

Knuckle was still trying to recover from watching Shoot after all.

And… he didn’t want to guilt trip Killua to do that miracle save he’d done for Gon—it had obviously been a big deal to him—and a major secret. He didn’t want to force him to reveal it—or make him feel guilty if he didn’t.

It was obviously a big deal after all whatever it was, and obviously Gon had been worth it to him, but Knuckle wouldn’t begrudge him if he wasn’t worth that much. He barely knew the kid. He’d only fought—trained really— Gon. Killua had mostly stayed in the background watching the boy fondly during that time and after—well they hadn’t had that much time after, and for the most part their interactions had involved working out the plan. Knuckle still felt great gratitude Killua had taking charge and saved those people despite everything when he couldn’t –but that was all on _his_ side.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Knuckle blinked once and realized he’d dropped his phone to his chest at some point as he was thinking. He stared at it for a long moment, his head pounded behind his eyes now that he was paying attention to the world outside it, his central line stung from dropping his phone on it, his mouth tasted like pennies—something he was getting used to, to his annoyance—his throat burned from irritation— and then he stretched a smile across his face to meet Ikalgo’s eyes.  “Oh, yeah, fine, Just a bit tired.”

He didn’t seem all that reassured. Knuckle felt his stomach drop at that, but at least he let it slip.

 

Shoot was worried. This was nothing new.

He wasn’t worried about his surgery later today. The last one for his leg. The one that if it went well he’d gain full use of it and if it didn’t he’d be left with an annoying limp that would make his job more than difficult. Maybe he should have been but he wasn’t.

He was thinking about Knuckle.

He was often thinking about Knuckle. A fact that—somewhat embarrassingly—had been true far before the battle. None the less the constant barrage of text’s he’d gotten all morning made it much easier to think about Knuckle.

Knuckle was trying to keep his mind off his surgery—he could tell and appreciated it. He was also only sounding half lucid—his abbreviations and spelling more atrocious than normal. More than a few texts were sent early on accident or trailed off in odd tangents strange even for him.

At best he was tired and Shoot tried to convince him he was fine and he could sleep. Knuckle seemed unconvinced and even Shoot could admit normally he would be dwelling quite a bit but he really _was_ fine right now. His worry had other things to focus on.

Mostly Knuckle.

Like what if this wasn’t just him tired to the bone?

“Hello.”

Shoot jumped and almost felt silly for it. After Nana Bine’s visit he’d half expected Ms. Bine would show up eventually. And at her smile Shoot didn’t even feel surprise. Knuckle _would_ send someone over to make sure he was okay today.

“Hello,” he sighed back as his phone buzzed again.

Ms. Bine laughed as she entered the room. “He isn’t annoying you, is he? I told him he was being a bit much after the third ‘I’m fine’ you sent.”

“No, it’s fine.” Shoot shook his head. He actually kind of liked the constant texts –wouldn’t forever he knew but it was reassuring except for the parts that weren’t. “I know he’s just concerned.”

“That’s a kind way of putting it.” She laughed again and took a seat. “He’s been complaining all morning that he can neither visit you or convince the nurses to let you stay in his room until it’s time.”

Shoot felt his face grow hot again and cursed being so pale. He didn’t think things like that would ever stop affecting him.

Unlike her mother she didn’t comment though he knew he’d been obvious.

“I really am fine, if you could tell him. He’s been plenty distracting.”

“I’ll tell him,” she assured though her lips quirked in amusement and Shoot realized what he just said. His face went even redder and he turned away.

“I’ve been worrying about him too much anyway.” He defended only to realize that really wasn’t much better and his face didn’t cool in the slightest.

“Oh.” Her voice was calm, soothing, but there was also a soft sadness to it. He was not the only one worrying.

“I know he keeps saying he’s okay but… he’s hiding more than he lets on—even if it’s just how miserable he is.”

To his surprise Ms. Bine snorted. He looked over at her to find her staring up at the ceiling, shaking her head.

“That boy, whenever he had a scape or a bad cold he was clingy and whined and cried—but give him, chicken pox, the flu or a broken limb and he’d grin and tell us he was fine, and it didn’t hurt, and don’t worry about me, Mama,” Ms. Bine sighed as she slumped into the chair. Shoot watched her with concern. “So no—I’m not surprised about your observations Mr. McMahon, he’s always been like that.”

“Shoot—” At the raise of her eyebrow Shoot blushed and glanced away. His stomach tightened. “I just… don’t like going by my last name.” If asked, he couldn’t even vocalize why he still held on to it.

“Shoot then.” She smiled at him. Shoot managed a small smile back. It was easier than expected. Her smile faded though and Shoot’s stomach sunk again.

“Truthfully,” she admitted looking so lost that Shoot almost reached out to her—but she was on the wrong side of the bed and he caught himself just in time. “As soon as I saw him—and he didn’t immediately whine to me about how his head hurt, or the food tasted funny—that’s how I knew it was serious.” Her eyes closed and Shoot felt sick himself.

But she looked so sad and alone and lost and almost without thinking Shoot managed to swing himself to let his legs—cast and all—dangle from the bed so he could rest his hand on her arm. She blinked her eyes open in surprise. “He always recovered back then, didn’t he? Whining or no?”

She stared at him and managed a tired smile. “That he did, that he did.” Her eyes’ crinkled more. “You’re a good boy, Shoot. Perhaps I should tell him he’s worrying you—maybe _that_ will get him to open up.”

Shoot flinched at the idea. “Please don’t.”

Still her laughter loosened a knot in his shoulders—at least _she_ was looking better.

 

Knuckle grinned deliriously when late that night a text came through—Shoot was awake and aware from surgery.

_I’m awake, I’m fine, my leg is fine—Go to sleep!_

 

 

It was good news— _Great_ news even. He’s should be ecstatic, overjoyed, at least mildly happy. He should… he _was_ … it’s just…

It would have been nicer if the day Meleoron was told his marrow was recovering and he was on the mend hadn’t been the same day he was told it was highly recommended he get a morrow _transplant_.

Meleoron was recovering—and he _was_ happy for him—but _he_ wasn’t. No he was getting worse— _still_.

And he was trying—trying to no let it bother him—to not ruin the cheer of the room as everyone celebrated. He’d managed smiles when people looked his way—thankfully they rarely did—but it was _hard_.

He wanted to be bitter, he wanted to whine, to scream and yell and break things, he wanted to cry even but that wouldn’t be fair – he couldn’t pick a fuss over Meleoron’s good news—he couldn’t worry everyone –but he was _so_ tired, and the happiness was getting to him in a very not-catching way that the best he could do was those few smiles and a single “congratulations” at the start. After a while he even tried to pretend to fall asleep just so nobody would talk to him.

He’d tried to actually fall asleep but he’d slept so much these last few days he just couldn’t. His rushing thoughts did little to help either.

For the first time he wished he had his own room again—and that just made the guilt _worse_.

 

Knuckle was upset.

He’d been miserable and upset this entire time of coarse—but now he was _upset_ , or perhaps he was just too tired and stretched to thin that it was starting to really leak out the cracks.

Shoot didn’t think anyone else had noticed it—they were too busy chatting with Meleoron—believing Knuckle asleep and trying to let him rest—but Shoot had slept in the same rooms as Knuckle for most of fourteen years—he knew what a Knuckle at sleep looked like—as well as one trying to fake it.

Not to mention his Nen was too agitated for him to be asleep but not in the grasp of a dream—it had been all day in fact. Not that Shoot was surprised nobody else had noticed. Morel had taken Knov to one of his appointments, and the ants were too busy being happy for Meleoron.

He didn’t blame them per say—but as he watched Knuckle fake sleep he realized how hard it must be to see someone getting better when you weren’t—and he knew Knuckle wasn’t yet—Knuckle would be singing it off the rooftops if he was. He didn’t want to worry them after all.

He would let him pretend—at least until Meleoron was asleep and the others gone. But he couldn’t let him just be miserable without trying _something_. Knuckle always tried to cheer _him_ up after all or calm him down.

 

It took about an hour before Meleoron was drooping and people started to leave. Thankfully even Ms. and Nana Bine left—exhausted from a long day—and neither said anything about him staying behind, though he did get a few looks that were a bit to knowing for his liking. He did the best to pretend he hadn’t seen them.

Once they were gone Shoot waited until he was sure Meleoron was properly asleep and then awkwardly pulled his chair closer to Knuckle’s bedside with his good leg. He didn’t even have to say anything before Knuckle was shifting.

 “How’d you know,” Knuckle mumbled into his pillow not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I’ve shared a room with you for fourteen years,” Shoot reminded him. “Plus your Nen was too agitated—it does tend to flare off you more than most, maybe because you’re an Emitter perhaps, but never like that when you’re asleep and calm.”

“You were using Gyo?”

Shoot shrugged despite the fact he couldn’t see. “Constant vigilance.”

Knuckle snorted humorlessly. “Morel would be proud,” he muttered bitterly.

Shoot sighed. “Are you alright?” he tried despite knowing his answer and the actual one.

“’m fine,” Knuckle grumbled.

Shoot stared down at him for a long moment, up at Meleoron who he could tell was actually asleep, and then back to Knuckle. “No your not—and you’re allowed to _not_ be, you know.”

Knuckle tensed but attempted another snort. “Where’d you get that—a fortune cookie?”

“No. Your Grandmother told me it when she caught me half way to an anxiety attack and I tried to tell her I was fine.”

Knuckle didn’t have words to counter that.

“Do you think she was _wrong?_ ”

He finally moved, pushing himself up on his arm to stare wide eyed at him—looking startled and maybe even afraid. “What no—she isn’t… it’s just…” He collapsed back on to his pillow. “I _am_ happy for him,” he whimpered.

Shoot’s heart panged and before he realized what he was doing he pulled him chair closer with his good leg and rested his hand on Knuckle’s shoulder. “I know, Knuckle. I know you are.”

“It’s just—”

Shoot hummed to give him time but to let him know he was listening.

“…Just…” There was a shudder below his hand and suddenly Knuckle was rolling over. Teary eyed he snatched his hand before Shoot could pull back in surprise and held onto it like a lifeline. Shoot stared. “It’s not _fair_ ,” he finally whined. Air whistled through gritted teeth in an attempt to keep his voice down. “We were caught _together_ spent the _same_ amount of time next to him and yet _he’s_ getting _better_ and I’m—” He cut himself off, looking frightened and sick. Shoot felt his own stomach turn.

“What, Knuckle?” he finally asked as Knuckle only fidgeted with his fingers, turning his hand this way and that. Knuckle stilled and dropped the hand but Shoot didn’t pull it away—letting it sit on Knuckle’s chest.

“I… the doctors want me to get a marrow transplant,” he admitted dully, refusing to look Shoot in the eye.

Shoot swallowed thickly. “That…not good…?” He knew it wasn’t and yet he couldn’t help the questioning whine at the end of his words.

Knuckle snorted darkly again. “If I don’t I’ll probably die,” he admitted. Shoot’s body tensed at the word. “And if I do there is no guarantee it’ll work.”

For a long moment Shoot didn’t know what to say. In that moment Knuckle didn’t move—until he did. With a silent roar he snatched at one of the pillow behind him and threw it across the room to the viewing window with all his strength.

It made it, but only barely, which just showed how far Knuckle had fallen.

Shoot stared after the pillow in surprise but jolted back when he heard the half swallowed sob. Knuckle had curled up on himself and was doing everything in his power to hold back his tears. Shoot’s heart hurt and he leaned over.

“Knuckle,” he whispered as soothingly as he could. He reached out with as much courage as he could and lightly pushed back some fallen hair behind his ears before he reached down and took one of his hands. Knuckle didn’t look at him but the grip he returned told him he was listening. “It’s okay to be upset, it’s okay to be sad… it’s _okay_ to be afraid.”

Knuckle curled in further—around Shoot’s hand this time and hid his face in his elbow. “I-I-I d-don’t want to d-die,” he whimpered. Shoot squeezed his hand tighter and called up his other three—one closing the curtain around the bed—hopefully if Meleoron awoke he would know to not say anything, another pulling the blanket over Knuckle’s shoulders and tucking him in, and the third—hesitantly—stroking through his hair.

He could feel what his hands did—albeit at a distance and artificially, kind of like the equivalent to hearing a human voice and an automated computer one –recognizable but just off.

Part of him wished he was using his own hand to sooth back his hair—he’d wanted to do that for _years_ —but he wouldn’t give up his grip on Knuckle’s hand for anything. Not right now. Not when Knuckle needed him.

He’d stay like this as long as he was needed.

 

The next morning Knuckle told everyone else as they trickled in to visit. He had to after all, while marrow transfusions were surprisingly simple, he would need a bone marrow exam first which would require leaving the room briefly. No one made a big deal about it though Shoot could see the crease of concern in their faces and the conversation generally turned to other things: Pictures from Gon who was back at Whale Island, pictures from Killua from yet another location, talk about what was going to happen to Beyond Netero and if he was even the real deal.

Knuckle pushed himself into every conversation he could manage—distracting himself Shoot would guess. Meanwhile he just sat back and watched tiredly—even more than usual. He’d stayed the night. He wasn’t supposed to—but when the nurse came to take him to his room, she’d found him holding the hand of a sleeping but obviously recently crying Knuckle and had let him stay. He was grateful for that.

Exhausted, but grateful. Wheelchairs didn’t make great beds.

“Busy night,” Palm teased as she leaned over him. Shoot attempted to shoot her a glare but wasn’t sure he managed.

“Knuckle had a bad night,” he admitted instead looking back to the man in question. He was smiling slightly as he watched Morel and Knov debate over Beyond and his plan even as a nurse quietly took more blood for testing.

Palm’s grin dropped. “Yeah… I thought he wasn’t looking so great yesterday but… he got told yesterday didn’t he?”

Shoot nodded.

“Bad luck that.”

Shoot hummed in agreement.

“Things are better now though right?”

Shoot sighed. “As much as they can be… he released…some stress last night but it’s still hard I’m sure.” At noticing Palm attempt to hide a smirk Shoot rethought over his words, blushed and huffed. “Now really isn’t the time,” he hissed.

“Sorry, sorry.” She sighed and leaned against the wall. “So when does he get it?”

“The bone marrow exam is tonight—they’ll know for sure whether he needs the transfusions sometime tomorrow. They apparently had already looked for a donor just in case and found one so that’s taken cared of.”

“Well that’s good at least.”

Shoot just hummed and tried not to show his worry. Knuckle had admitted some details to him this morning before the others had started to trickle in. His marrow was too sick to do autologous transplantation—in that he couldn’t use his own stem cells—and since that meant a random donor—that meant a greater chance at failure which could quickly turn into death.

Shoot had been proud Knuckle had felt comfortable sharing that with him and he wasn’t going to ruin it by freaking out over it.

He _wasn’t._

Not noticeably at least.

It wasn’t all bad news—there was a new procedure that decreased that risk substantially—things would be okay. They would. For Knuckle he would keep his calm.

He _would._

 

They were all ushered out of the room just before Knuckle was to be taken for pre-opt. Shoot had been returned to his room while most of the rest of the party only stopped briefly before heading off to collect something to eat from the cafeteria.

Knov was the only one who stayed, and he collapsed into the chair next to Shoot without comment. Shoot watched him from the corner of his eye. He looked almost as exhausted as Shoot felt and Shoot couldn’t be too surprised. He knew Knov was going through his own treatments though he wasn’t privy to the details. He still remembered the look on Morel’s face—hidden behind professionalism but even so—when he told them Knov wouldn’t be able to continue the mission. He still remembered the few glimpses he had gotten of Knov before he had managed to regain some composure, how emaciated he looked when Shoot woke… the vague recollection of shaky arms picking him up—a panicking heart under his ear.

Shoot was extremely grateful for that. No one would have blamed him if he’d stayed away from the palace but he hadn’t, and because of that Morel and he were alive. That and Knuckle.

Knov looked much better now. Enough so that Shoot was surprised and impressed. He’d gained back most of his weight and was starting to regrow his hair though it remained white. But Shoot suspected he probably wasn’t as recovered as he acted. Something like that didn’t go away in a few weeks.

He felt like he should thank him. That also felt terrifying. Knov didn’t usually intimidate him too much—he’d known him for seventeen years now—but he usually wasn’t exhausted and of uncertain mental state. Shoot didn’t want to bring up bad memories if he could help it.

Plus, honestly, he was pretty sure Knov would shrug off any thank you anyway.

So instead he turned to his phone—he had left it behind to recharge only to spend the night. He rolled his eyes as he realized Knuckle had at some point sent him a text, asking him which hat he thought would suit Knov better – a sparkly pink top hat or an odd, almost witchy thing with far too many feathers. Knuckle had told him at length of the grand task Killua and he had put upon themselves to do and Shoot had rolled his eyes good-naturedly and expected that to be the end of it, but he should have known better.

“He sent me the feathery one,” Knov said from over his shoulder. Shoot blinked up blushing but was relieved to see a slight twist of amusement in his lips. “Between the two I personally agree, the pink is far too bright.”

Shoot snorted though he also agreed. He was just glad Knuckle’s boredom antics was giving Knov some amusement instead of annoying, frustrating, or stressing him. Maybe he would take a slightly more active role in that case.

Though personally Shoot thought the hat Knov had was perfect. Not for its looks no, but because Morel had gotten it for him. And it had to be Morel—Knov wouldn’t have chosen it himself, nor would had Palm, so Morel was the only person left who would pick it that Knov would accept and actually wear.

And because of that, and this was only a theory, but Shoot thought Knov was keeping it close as something of an comfort object, though perhaps that was just him projecting.

Either way he hadn’t told anyone else his theory—though perhaps he would. Knuckle and he had been trying to figure out what the relationship was between the two elder hunters since they’d been kids and still didn’t know for sure. The best they managed was what the figured was good chances between them being a romance, a bromance, or just really awkward acting friends.

Well those three and Knuckle’s personal favorite: “Dating but not realizing it.”

After the last few weeks he was betting the chances for romance needed to be adjusted quite a bit and he was sure Knuckle would agree.

It would be fun—nostalgic—they hadn’t really done anything to that regard since they had been kids. It had just kind of fallen wayside—

No…

No it had been one of the casualties of him telling Knuckle they weren’t friends and Knuckle being hurt and trying to give him space in respect in turn which led to years of a stunted and stalled relationship.

Who knew where they would be now if he hadn’t been such an idiot. They had been friends as kids, of course they had been, but he’d gone and ruined it even if it had eventually recovered. He was such an idiot. An idiot, and asshole, and anxious mess—”

“He’ll be alright.”

Shoot blinked back into reality at Knov’s words and light touch on his shoulder. He looked at him in confusion before he realized his anxiety must have shown on his face and Knov had assumed the most obvious thing.

“Biopsies are rather simple procedures. The chance of something going wrong is miniscule.”

Shoot took a deep breath to suppress his fading anxiety and nodded. “I know.”

Knov nodded once and leaned back. “You can go to sleep if you want. I’m sure no one will mind.”

Shoot considered that—he truly was exhausted, but exhausted enough to sleep in a room full of people?

Yes. With these people anyway, yes.

He nodded and put his phone aside before sliding down his pillow to get comfortable. The blanket slipped to his right as he did and he cursed and tried to twist to catch it with his hand only to blush slightly as Knov grabbed it and pulled it up over him without comment.

Made sense though, Shoot thought to himself in an exhaustion-induced slip, if he and Morel were together what did that make him—their step-dad? Knuckle would get a kick out of that thought.

Amusement twisted his lips as he nuzzled into his pillow and to his somewhat-surprise—he was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I meant to mention this last chapter, but I got the idea of Shoot telling Knuckle they weren't friends from a comic I read ages ago (and unfortunately can't find at the moment) and it just seemed perfect to explain and justify them knowing each other for fourteen years and Knuckle's realization during the fight. There will be more about that time and the circumstances around it (and why Shoot did it) in the future if anyone is interested.
> 
> Also I really love subtle step-dad Knov and so do Shoot and Knuckle, okay.


	5. Getting the Word

Shoot was wheeled back over early the next morning before anyone else had returned to the hospital. They didn’t even bother to try and dissuade him—they hadn’t for a while now—and considering the nurse who was wheeling him over was the same one who had left him stay the night he figured it was half through design.

He was okay with that.

He blinked when—after decontamination and changing into clean scrubs—he was wheeled into the room and was met with Knuckle’s backside.

“Um…”

Knuckle didn’t miss a beat. “Shoot, my back hurts,” he whined.

“Ah…” To be fair to Knuckle he was only lying on his stomach—shirtless—with a single bandage peeking out from his pants—but well, it wasn’t his fault that Shoot’s eyes had strayed to his…um…was it hot in here.

Forcing his red-faced gaze away—because that wasn’t appropriate at _all_ , Knuckle was _sick_ —Shoot frowned as he noticed that Knuckle’s back was red and flaky—almost like a bad sunburn.

“He’s been complaining about his back since he came back,” Meleoron stated wryly. He grinned at Shoot and Shoot suddenly realized he hadn’t exactly been subtle. His face went back to burning.

“They stuck a needle into my bone and suck out my bone juice—I feel like I have a right,” Knuckle grumbled into his elbow.

“Let Meleoron sleep, Knuckle,” Shoot said for lack of anything else to say.

Knuckle grumbled into his elbow as Meleoron laughed with the nurse who settled him back into his spot before making her leave.

Knuckle was pouting over his arm at him. Shoot raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side.”

Shoot tilted his head slightly, “Says who—?”

The look of exaggerated betrayal that flashed across Knuckle’s face almost made him laugh. Instead he reached out at pat his head once. “I’m sure it hurts.”

Pouting still Knuckle grunted once and pulled a pillow over his head. “Fuck you too.”

“Why is your back all sunburned?”

“Huh—” Knuckle pushed up and glanced over his back before recognition flashed. “Oh yeah _that_ —that’s been there awhile. S’no big deal though – it’s—” he let himself fall and turned to his side enough to free both hands and Shoot couldn’t help but stare at the central line sticking out of his chest. “’Erythema and Dry Descamation’ it’s itchy and stuff but apparently it could have been a lot worse—like ulcers or whatever—so I deal. It’ll go away eventually.”

“Could still get a lot worse,” Meleoron corrected from his bed idly chewing in his thumb. He was looking twitchy again—craving. Shoot shot Knuckle a look.

“Shut up,” Knuckle groaned allowing himself to flop back down on his stomach. “It _can_ —but it’s _unlikely_ —for something to pop up sometime in the next two years.” He admitted into his elbow. “But it’s unlikely for any of the major conditions to pop up after the first few weeks—we’re over that hump already.”

Shoot hummed in acceptance of that—with an internal promise to keep an eye on Knuckle for the next few years. “Is it only on your back?” He hadn’t seen any before—but he’d really only seen Knuckle’s face and lower arms.

Knuckle nodded. “Yeah—the doc’s think it’s because how Meruem—according to Palm—was holding us my back got the worse of it.” Pouting again Knuckle managed a head nudge in Meleoron’s general direction. “Luck him over there made it out with only some discoloration—probably because he has thicker skin and had a shirt.”

Meleoron snorted. “It’s not my fault you have a thing for going around topless.”

“You make it sound weird.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m an ant and even _I_ know that’s weird.”

Knuckle shifted to glare, but Shoot could see the humor in his eyes so didn’t bother to worry too much. His glare was quickly broken with a yawn.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Finally,” Meleoron said in an attempt of a sigh ruined by his snickers. “He’s been refusing sleep all night—wonder why you showing up changes that?” His grin only grew as Knuckle shot him a middle finger as well as two other rather rude gestures before throwing his pillow back over his head but Shoot couldn’t help but notice how he didn’t refute it either. His face was never going to cool down, was it?

Not with Meleoron here it seemed—and Palm was coming later. Joy.

 

Knuckle woke a few hours later. He also stopped complaining about his back long enough to flip himself around and sit up. Palm and Ikalgo had arrived by then and Ikalgo had brought cards and without much else to do a circle was formed and cards were shuffled and passed out.

Shoot had waved them off—happy to watch and spend some times taking notes from a few new research journals. He didn’t get much work done through—the others were far to distracting… and entertaining.

Knuckle had pouted at a nurse long enough to get a large bag of M&M’s to use as chips—one of his favorite candies ever. He then went and lost his entire share through games of poker, blackjack, and then rummy. He was okay at strategy, probably would be brilliant at counting cards if he thought of it—but he had no poker face.

He’d pouted as the rest played until Shoot had rolled his eyes and passed him his share—Knuckle hadn’t let him get away without one even though he wasn’t playing—of M&M’s. He’d cheered up after that and the games took a turn to one that didn’t require chips—mostly because there was barely any left.

In those Knuckle rarely lost.

Twenty-eight and then Twenty-nine. Pairs. War. A weird team version of Snap. Then several different version of Oh Hell—including a team one. Egyptian Ratscrew until they had gotten too competitive and bruises started appearing on the backs of Meleoron and Knuckle’s hands. Crazy Eights. Go Fish. A bunch of games from the former-EDL that Ikalgo and Meleoron remembered playing.

The only one Knuckle had trouble with was Old Maid.

They goofed off and bickered and laughed, and then lowered the energy and simplified the games when Knuckle and Meleoron began to lag without ever having to say anything and even though he wasn’t playing all of them drew him into conversation at least once and he felt part of the group and it felt _nice_.

He had Knuckle as a kid, before he ruined it that was, and he had some professional colleagues now—but he had never had anything like this. He remembered being a boy—hiding in the library away from home as much as possible—hiding himself in books and daydreaming about the friend groups he’d found in them.

When he was a little bit older he’d even been a bit bitter over his books lying to him.

This certainly wasn’t any of those friend groups but none the less—he wished he could show that boy today. Maybe he wouldn’t have been such an idiot with Knuckle.

Ikalgo and Palm disappeared a little later—the hospital indulged them in a lot of things, but as non-patients they had to find their own meals. Shoot was pretty sure even he being served in the reverse-isolation rooms was skirting general practices a little though he wasn’t going to complain.

They ate quickly in relative—but not awkward—silence. By the time Shoot was done with his meal both Knuckle and Meleoron were done—in a certain matter of speaking as Shoot noticed neither of them had finished their plate—and distracted. Meleoron had taken the time to crash while Knuckle had been distracted by a text.

He snickered. Shoot could guess. “Hats?”

“Yup—Kid has a nose for these kinds of things apparently.”

Shoot rolled his eyes slightly. “Knov agreed with your choice by the way—Witch hat much better than pink top hat.”

“He saw the text? How’d he act?” There was a sparkle in his eye that just only now did Shoot realized had been missing for most of the last few weeks—from even before he’d fallen. He’d known there had been something off—more than the gaunt face and thin hair but he’d never been able to put a name to it before.

He was so incredibly glad to see it now.

“Um… Shoot.” Shoot blinked and Knuckles suddenly looked concerned. “Are you okay? He didn’t go off on you…did he?”

Quirking a lip Shoot shook his head. “No. He seemed amused by it.”

Knuckle pouted. “Ah, that’s no fun if he finds it funny…”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a good thing.” Lowering his voice even though he was fairly sure Meleoron was fast asleep. “I think he could use it.”

Knuckle’s pout twisted into real concern. “Why? Did you hear anything?”

Shoot shook his head. “No. He’s just tired… like us. And… you don’t go through what he did and recover in a few weeks.”

Knuckle grimaced and nodded. “Yeah. Your right. He’s just Knov—stupidly composed most of the time—you never know how he really feels unless he wants you to… or your Morel, which may be the same thing. Not sure.” He looked back at his phone. From this angle Shoot could just see some rainbow monstrosity through the glare. “So I guess I can keep this going for a bit. It’s been fun talking with the kid and his sis anyway.”

Shoot nodded though Knuckle wasn’t paying attention. He watched as Knuckle type out a reply back to Killua and considered.

“You know,” he finally said breaking the silence. “I have a theory—about the hat.”

Knuckle looked over at him intrigued. Shoot felt the slightest bit of relief. Back when they were kids they had often tried to guess at Morel, Knov, random hunters Morel was meeting with— _anyone’s_ odd mannerisms or habits or possessions, and it had almost always started with one of them saying: “I have a theory—”. A way of keeping entertained when the grownups where busy and they couldn’t help.

He was glad Knuckle seemed willing to listen.

“It’s from Morel.”

“Well— _duh_ , who else would buy it _and_ convince Knov to wear it.”

“I wasn’t finished—it’s from Morel… so the reason Knov is wearing and still wearing it is—”

“A bet?”

Shoot shot him a halfhearted glare. He couldn’t manage a proper one, not when this was so familiar as well. Knuckle was never one for waiting. Knuckle smiled sheepishly.

“Possible, but no—I think…” his voice lowered even more—he wouldn’t dare mention this to Meleoron. “I think he might be using it as a comfort object.”

For a second Knuckle didn’t seem to get it. Shoot watched as understanding drew on his face—and then his eyes got teary but soft. “That’s so mushy,” he managed trying to pretend he didn’t find the idea painfully sweet and adorable. “Super mushy.” Then he quirked a lip a little and looked back to Shoot. “Though I suppose our percents _are_ way out of date aren’t they.” He sounded a little unsure and Shoot felt a rush of affection. Knuckle wanted to go back too.

“Yes—especially after the last few months.”

“What were our last numbers…?” Knuckle frowned and thought back.

“50% romance, 25% bromance, and 25—”

“22% dating but not realizing it, 3% really awkward and good friends.” He grinned brazenly up at Shoot would tried to sigh but couldn’t keep the amusement off his face.

“I thought we agreed that keeping it broad was better–dating would be under romance.”

“ _You_ did— _I_ still think that’s the best thing ever though—imagine what _realizing_ it would be like.” He shook his head. “But even so your percents are way to general—half and quarters. No finesse at all.”

“Not everyone sees the world in numbers, Knuckle.”

“Their loss,” Knuckle smiled—his grin was getting fainter—he was getting tired.

“So what do you think it is now?”

Frowning Knuckle considered the ceiling. He stared for a several minutes but Shoot didn’t mind waiting—he was still thrilled this was happening at all… plus the calculating look in Knuckle’s eye was nice to look at.

“At least 70% for romance—maybe even 75%. Hmm… 29-24% bromance and 1% awkward because at this point there is nearly no way it’s that.”

That seemed pretty accurate. Shoot tilted his head slightly as Knuckle waited. “No ‘not knowing’?”

“I would but honestly by this point they are either dating or not—still bet there was a period of ‘in relationship but not noticing’ though.”

“Those numbers were pretty rounded as well.”

Knuckle shrugged. “Keeping it simple for you no-number people.”

Shoot couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “Really, Knuckle.”

Knuckle just grinned and suddenly Shoot couldn’t help giggiling. Within moment Knuckle was right there with him. It was only luck that Meleoron was deep enough asleep that the snickers didn’t wake him.

“I feel like such a kid,” Knuckle admitted shaking his head and then yawning.

“But it was nice…” Shoot tried suddenly feeling his brain itch—did Knuckle not actually like it? Was he going about this the wrong way—too stuck in the past? What did adult friends _do?_ What did Morel and Knov do—

That thought was _not_ helping.

“Yeah…” Knuckle admitted—Shoot would even call his tone dreamy if he didn’t know better. He was just tired surely. None the less relief hit him as he sighed. “I missed this.”

The itch was back. Shoot swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Knuckle blinked in confusion.

“On…what?”

“I…for…for telling you we weren’t friends.”

Knuckle stared blankly at him for a long moment. Shoot shifted awkwardly suddenly wishing he had some kind of mobility. Maybe he could flee on his hands… or use his hands to push his chair… that was smarter, yeah. He was tired as well. And panicking.

“Oh… you mean—way back…” Knuckle looked lost and Shoot chewed his lip before nodding slowly. “But… it’s not _your_ fault if you didn’t feel that way back then, it just _is_ —”

“But I _did!_ ” Shoot snapped and then felt guilty from the startled look in Knuckle’s eyes. He’d felt _more_ than that back then and that had been half the problem. Suddenly being extremely overwhelmed from just Knuckle’s _presence_ and too afraid to seek help—so overwhelmed that he had forgotten that Knuckle was also his _friend_ , the boy he’d known for years and not just the source of his awe and attraction.

—the rest a surge of anxiety, lack of other friends and trust in relationships and social interactions in general. Being around Knuckle had started getting hard as his feeling changed and grew so he had fled from it like he always did when things got hard.

But he couldn’t tell Knuckle that. Not without admitting…

He didn’t want to have that conversation four weeks from the battle… while Knuckle was sick and stuck in a hospital… not when they had only just started properly repairing their friendship…It was too soon and frankly after years of trying to forget Shoot really needed to think though his own mess of thoughts.

And there was a part of him that didn’t want to admit it at _all._ But he squashed that part—that part had been what convinced him to say those words to Knuckle years ago. He would tell him. He _promised._

But while Knuckle was in the hospital and things were looking good… it could wait.

…

He’d figured out what he would do later if things seemed they were turning bad… he didn’t…

Didn’t…

…

Eventually.

Shoot swallowed.

“Then why?” Knuckle voice sounded so uncertain that Shoot almost started tearing up.

“I… it’s hard to explain…” he rubbed at is face. That was at least true. “I don’t fully know myself.” That was also true. He had no idea what past-him had thought he was doing… but he knew some. “I… it just…my anxiety had been getting bad and it felt easier for me to just—not have relationships. Stay safely professional—with easy scripts and interactions I could prepare for…” he trailed off. That was in a way true… for new people. Ones he didn’t know well, but to do it to Knuckle, who had known for almost eight years then—it didn’t make sense. He hoped Knuckle wouldn’t notice.

The sad look in Knuckle’s eye almost made Shoot swallow and admit everything. Admit how his crush had started to warp to something different, something _more_. How he was always so embarrassed and awkward around Knuckle when before it had been easy even with his crush, and how he hadn’t known what to do. How frustrated he’d been. How embarrassed he’d been—Knuckle would never say yes—he was _Knuckle_. If he did it would be from _pity_.

Instead he covered his face with his hand and breathed out, “It was a _mistake._ I was an idiot. I’m sorry, Knuckle.”

It was quiet for some time. Shoot tried to gather the courage to peek but couldn’t.

Finally Knuckle asked, hesitantly but… hopeful. “So we _were_ friends?”

“Knuckle,” Shoot sighed but almost smiled from the pure relief he felt. He dropped his hand. “I considered you a friend the moment you came crying to the door with those puppies.” He paused and considered. “Though it took me a few more months to realize that.”

“Really,” Knuckle’s voice squeaked.

“Yes, really.”

“I considered you a friend to then—after you helped me and didn’t make fun of my crying and—” Shoot raised a brow at the idea of him being able to make fun of _anyone’s_ tears at that age. Friend or no it had still taken him almost a year to truly lose all his fear of Knuckle. “I just…sometimes thought you were a show off.”

“A show off,” Shoot deadpanned. The sheer idea of his mousy younger self being able to show off _anything…_

Knuckle shrugged face going red. “Yeah, well, in retrospect but—you were two years ahead of where you should be in school and I was one behind—you flipped me in our first fight before I could even move—you were _so_ good at Nen…” He caught Shoot’s eye and then glanced away. “I was kinda an insecure kid,” he admitted. “And admitting to being amazed and impressed went against every bit of my tough gangster thirteen year old self.”

Shoot hesitated but the words came out anyway. “You mean wannabe-tough gangster?”

Knuckle shot him a glare that quickly turned into a snort. “No, yeah I can’t even… yeah that’s accurate. I was _so_ embarrassing as a kid.”

“I think we both were.”

“I think _all_ kids are.”

The two smiled at each other. The hint of sadness was gone from Knuckle’s eye. Hopefully it had just been a trick of the light or Knuckle emphasizing to much again.

After a moment the two avoided each other’s eyes. It was awkward—but a kind of… giddy awkward. Shoot wasn’t sure how to describe it. It didn’t bother him as much as it usually did—it wasn’t a bad sign—just nervous and giddy.

Almost like anticipation… but of something good not bad.

Knuckle shifted an arm behind his head and let out a loud yawn that Shoot wasn’t sure was actually real. “So… Knov.”

If that wasn’t an awkward change of subject then Shoot had no anxiety at all. But he did so he let it change in sympathy.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we should get Palm to get him a gift or something—so he has more than one? Even if it’s kind of awkward between them right now? He’d probably accept it?”

Shoot blinked. “Awkward?” Thinking about it he had rarely seen Palm and Knov together since he’d woken—not when everyone wasn’t together at least. That was rather out of character—Palm stuck to Knov like a shadow whenever she could.

Or she had. She wasn’t exactly the same Palm he remembered. That was obvious.

Palm of before would have never spent so much time with them without Knov unless she had been ordered to and then she would have been pouty at best and murderous at worst.

Knuckle stilled. “Um… I didn’t, ah…”

Shoot rolled his eyes. “I didn’t hear anything.”

The relief that flashed in Knuckle’s eye almost made Shoot chuckle—but he held off. Barely.

“Right yeah—I don’t know. I want to help him but I can’t think of anything else.” He shifted his other arm up and gave a soft grin. “He’s done a lot of stuff for us. I mean… I’m pretty sure he killed a bunch of guys for me before he ever met me so… yeah, I love old man number 2.”

“Number 2?”

“Well yeah, Old Man Number 1 is taken—Morel.”

“I’m not saving you if he hears you say that.”

“I’m stupid not suicidal.” Knuckle snorted. Shoot frowned.

“You’re _not_ stupid.”

Knuckle stared back shocked. Even Shoot felt half-surprised by the venom in his tone but he pushed on even as his face burned slightly. “You’re _not_.  Have you seen what you do with math—you alone came up with a way to quantize Nen into numbers—and you’re frighteningly accurate with it. You could probably write a paper on it if you wanted to give up that advantage though I’m not sure if anyone else would ever be as good at you at reading it.

“I might have been two year ahead of where I should have been when we met but it’s not like you  didn’t catch up to me fast. We graduated within _months_ of each other.

“And I might scold you for being reckless and not thinking because you do—but when you _do_ stop and think you can read a situation in a moment. The reason I told you to ‘Endure it’ was because if _you_ couldn’t think of a solution—there probably _wasn’t_ any with what we had.”

Shoot huffed. Knuckle stared. Shoot shifted.

“You…really think that?”

Shoot swallowed but nodded firmly. “I do.”

Knuckle blinked. His face reddened enough that Shoot worried he’d get a nosebleed.

“Oh.” He couldn’t seem to meet Shoot’s eyes and Shoot struggled not to laugh at this strange reversal. “I…I think your super smart and cool and…” his face only reddened more and Shoot released a breath of a laugh.

“Thanks Knuckle.”

 

“So when are you two finally going to stop being stupid?”

Knuckle frowned and glanced away from the door Shoot had just left through—heading to get his leg checked out. “What?”

“You. Two. When are you planning on stopping being lovesick and actually say something.”

Knuckle could feel his face warm and looked away in hope Meleoron hadn’t seen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried.

“Oh, please,” Meleoron sighed. “Like hell you don’t. You do realize he likes you back, right? It’s painful to watch really.”

“Of course he likes me, we’re _friends._ ”

Meleoron snorted. Knuckle glanced over brows furrowed low.

“Hah—you really have no idea do you?” Meleoron smirked. “Yesterday when you were complaining about your back he could barely keep his eyes off your ass. He’s into you—sexually anyway if he’s that interested in your skinny—hey!”

Knuckle burned and glared as Meleoron laughed and pulled the pillow Knuckle had thrown from his face. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Hey, I’m just saying the truth—you _have_ been losing weight by the stone. But he _was_ definitely staring—and burning.”

Knuckle glared at the opposite wall wishing he had the energy to go over and shut him up personally. “Doesn’t mean you have to _say_ anything.”

“Sorry—I _was_ trying to help—you two are completely oblivious,” Meleoron shrugged but sounded a little uncertain. Knuckle sighed and some tension drained away. “Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Maybe because I’m currently in the hospital,” he huffed and shifted to look at him again. “And sick as a dog. I’ll tell him when I’m better.”

Meleoron frowned at him—seemed to consider something and then asked, “And if you _don’t_ get better. You can still _die,_ Knuckle.”

Knuckle huffed and glanced away trying his best to ignore the painful twist in his stomach. “Yeah—well I’ll figure out that if it comes up—for now things are still looking okay. I’m not likely to just die…I’m going to _know_ before....” He trailed off.

Meleoron huffed. “You might _not_ say anything?”

Knuckle gritted his teeth. “Maybe. I don’t know. It seems unfair to him to do that.”

“But he likes you back?”

“ _If_ that’s true,” Knuckle murmured. “Then that just makes it worst. ‘Hi. I love you. Now I’m dead.’”

“Don’t you think he’d want to know?” Meleoron countered. “Do you really think he rather live unsure.”

“I don’t _know_ , Meleoron,” Knuckle growled hiding his eyes with his arm. “I just _don’_ t know, okay. Right now I just want to be _friends_ again.”

Meleoron was quiet for a long moment. He sighed. “That sounds like a loaded statement. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Knuckle could almost hear the eye roll he knew was happening. “Suit yourself. I’m going to sleep.”

 

Knuckle got told the news when everyone was out for one reason or another with the exception of Meleoron who had woken up halfway into the talk and only knew some of it. This wasn’t by design. In fact it rather was unfortunate, but it’s how it happened.

He was quiet as people trickled in. Nobody missed that but everyone silently decided to wait until everyone was gathered.

Meleoron decided that was best as well and kept the news to himself as he chatted quietly with Ikalgo.

Shoot was the last to arrive and he surprised everyone as he was wheeled in. His leg was no longer covered in a thick white cast—but a thinner black walking brace and he had a foldable crutch attached to the back of his chair.

He smiled slightly as people congratulated him—Morel gave him a really awkward side hug if only do to the size difference with him still in his chair—but the smile faded as he caught Knuckle’s eyes despite the attempt of a smile on Knuckle’s face. “What’s wrong?”

That question finally voiced everyone turned slowly and looked over at Knuckle who blinked away. “I… got my results.”

Nobody said anything—not even Knuckle who fiddled with the loose thread at the end of his blanket.

Finally Meleoron sighed. “He needs to get the transfusion done—his marrow isn’t doing so… great.”

Knuckle made a face at that and with that the silence broke as people approached. Ms. Bine sat next to his head and stroked her fingers through his hair. Nana Bine sat near his feet and patted his leg. Morel walked over and rustled his hair. Knuckle grimaced more.

“I’m fine. It’s _fine_. Really.” He attempted to shake them off with minimal success. “It’s a hella less of a deal then getting a biopsy—it’s basically like getting a blood transfusions though…” he glanced away. “I do have to get some… some radiation first—the first tonight actually.”

“Radiation?” Nana Bine asked bewildered. “They want you _more_ irradiated?”

“It’s not… They need to make sure my body doesn’t reject the stem cells so they have to weaken my immune system—that’s all. It’ll probably make me nauseous but otherwise…” he glanced up and attempted a smile that put nobody to ease but slowly people picked up other threads of conversation in respect.

Knov of all people noticed Shoot sitting awkwardly by the door and pushed him to his normal spot—giving Morel a dull glance until he moved out of the way. Morel grinned sheepishly and rustled Shoot’s hair as he passed. Shoot blushed slightly but gave Knov a thankful smile as he followed Morel to a corner of the room to talk.

Shoot waited until everyone was busy or distracted elsewhere and then touched Knuckle’s shoulder.

Knuckle glanced over at him and Shoot gave him a look he hoped would convey what he needed to know.

Knuckle returned it was a tired smile and Shoot sighed—squeezed his arm—and then glanced around the room. Things weren’t great—but they weren’t crashing and burning at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun fact: The line: "What did adult friends do? What did Morel and Knov do—  
> That thought was not helping." was originally written Innocently--just referencing how they honestly don't know what Morel and Knov do half the time--and then on a reread I realize how sexual that sounded. Either way It's not helping Shoot (Who probably realizes both contexts).
> 
> Also Shoot is totally in denial... Knuckle was talking in a very dreamy voice.
> 
> And I apologize for my Meleoron, particularity in this chapter. When watching the show I didn't focus to much on him and i don't have time to go back right now so he's probably majorly out of character.


	6. Hitting the Hump

Shoot was just about to try and sleep when the head nurse—he really needed to get her name—appeared at his door. She smiled at him as he pushed himself up. She looked tired. Shoot wondered when she ever slept.

“He’s done—and he’s asking for you,” she hesitated. “I know it’s late. I shouldn’t do this but he’s pretty miserable right now…”

“Take me to him.”

She blinked at his tone. Shoot did as well. She then smiled and left to grab a wheelchair.

While she was gone Shoot shifted around on the bed—throwing his legs off and with help from his crutch pushing himself to his feet. He hissed as his leg throbbed as he shifted his weight but he couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief. Having mobility—any mobility that didn’t require him to use his Nen— was a relief.

He was wheeled into Knuckle’s room and instantly his heart hurt. Knuckle was curled up on his bed clinging one of his pillows to his stomach. Another nurse was sitting next to him with what looked like a bucket. The curtain had been half closed to separate him for Meleoron who caught Shoot’s eye briefly with a grimace before turning away to attempt to sleep.

The nurse next to Knuckle noticed them and turned to Knuckle.

“Knuckle, hey, your friend is here,” he eased and Knuckle blinked his eyes open and glanced over at Shoot but didn’t move. Shoot was wheeled over to him—the nurse got up and moved his chair away so he could take his place and then hovered over both of them. “How are you feeling—think you’re going to throw up again?”

Knuckle grumbled but shook his head. The nurse sighed and turned to Shoot. “I’ll leave this with you just in case—if you need one of us or if he throws up hit the call button.”

Shoot nodded and the nurses slowly made their leave.

Knuckle made a needy noise in the back of his throat and reached out with one hand towards Shoot. Shoot blinked at it—and then at the miserable crumpled form of Knuckle and did one better. Instead of grabbing his hand he grabbed his crutch and pushed himself to his feet.

Knuckle blinked blearily at him as he took a moment to assure his balance, but also shifted so Shoot had more room to sit down and even pushed himself up the pillow so once Shoot was settled he could lean heavily on him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mhh,” Knuckle mumbled. “My mouth tastes like acid and pennies. Can we talk about something else?” He turned his head into Shoot’s shoulder and for the first time in a while Shoot wished he had a full arm on that side so he could properly hold Knuckle. Even so he shifted what was left of his arm to hopefully be more comfortable—if nothing else to move the metal cuff out of the way.

“I’m starting physical therapy tomorrow.”

“Didn’t you already—with the crutches?” Knuckle mumbled into his armpit.

“Not really—I’m just allowed to try and use them now—tomorrow is when things get more extensive—I have to get strength back in that leg—build up all the muscle that got cut and twisted. It’s kind of a mess.”

“But’ll heal,” Shoot could hear the concern despite them muffling and slurring, and he smiled slightly.

“Yes, the worst that I should be left with is an ache in the rain.”

Knuckle hummed. “Your hair’s wet.”

Shoot blinked. “Yeah—decontamination does that.”

“You’re not wearing the weird hat either.”

Oh. “I forgot.” He’d been so worried about Knuckle that he hadn’t noticed his hair was still damp and heavy on his shoulders. “Sorry.” He shifted to pull his hair away from Knuckle’s head but Knuckle let out a sound of displeasure and raised his hand to tug slightly at the end of his hair.

Shoot froze and then slowly let his hand fall.

“Can I braid it?”

“You want to?” Knuckle had almost always messed with his hair. Back when they were teens he’d play with it as they talked about everything and nothing while waiting for Morel to fetch them or bored when he was away. Even after the whole… incident, Knuckle had after a lonely year or two had occasionally started helping him braid up his hair or help him take it down so to “not waste Nen on something silly.”

It was a rather silly excuse now that he thought about it but one that worked. It let them both pretend it was nothing but professional while letting them do something they both liked.

Because Shoot did like it. He’d enjoyed it long before his crush had ever formed.

“I don’t have a tie… but sure.”

Knuckle pushed himself up—stilling for a second looking pale but he forced himself through it and shifted. A little red Shoot shifted as well allowing Knuckle a better vantage point. Knuckle’s hand was shaky as he slowly pulled all the hair over Shoot’s shoulders and then ran his fingers through them looking for knots.

Shoot was worried about that, but he couldn’t help but sigh at the soothing feeling. It had always calmed him. Knuckle had even put his hair up before the battle without bothering with a pretense—knowing him to well.

Maybe it calmed him too. That was a nice thought.

Finally convinced there were no more knots Knuckle parted some of his hair and began braiding. Shoot let his eyes flutter close at the familiar but not familiar enough sensations. He remembered how tense and uncomfortable he had been the first time Knuckle had offered after he screwed everything up—and how he had tried to hold on to that feeling rather than let the feeling of Knuckle’s strong fingers relax and sooth him only to fail. Just as much as Knuckle cursing over several false starts had startled humor out of him. Sure the braids had ended up a bit messy—frizzy and uneven and off-center, but he had loved them anyway.

Knuckle had gotten much better quickly—enough so he remembered thinking it was almost like he was practicing somewhere. In hindsight now he could easily see Knuckle practicing, probably on some long furred animal—

Shoot let out a slight hiss as Knuckle brushed against his ear. His face went warm and he rather stubbornly kept his mind off certain tracts.

“Ah, sorry,” Knuckle squeaked and paused behind him. “My hands aren’t really listening to me really well. I could avoid—”

“Its _fine,_ Knuckle,” Shoot soothed as he tilted his head to give Knuckle better reach.

After a moment of hesitation Knuckle started again—notably taking pains to not brush his ear again. Shoot both appreciated and mourned that but mostly just let himself lose himself into the soothing motions of Knuckle’s fingers.

Finally Knuckle stopped. It took a moment for Shoot to realize he was done—his hands had fallen to his shoulders and from the slight creaking of the cot he could tell that Knuckle was examining his work.

“Wow, this is a mess.”

“Hmm?”

“Here, let me show you.”

After a bit of moving Knuckle handed over his phone which had the selfie-camera turned on. Shoot examined his hair—the braids were extremely uneven—one took up a forth of his hair—others barely any. It was also already falling out without a tie. “You really aren’t feeling good,” he observed.

Knuckle grumbled and leaned his head on the back of Shoot’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shoot tried glancing back at him. “It felt nice.”

Shoot could feel Knuckle freeze for a second. Just for a second, then he relaxed and mumbled something that was probably “good” but Shoot honestly wasn’t sure.

“You should sleep.”

Knuckle pushed off his back just enough to pout at him but then look concerned. “ _You_ should sleep—it’s getting late… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine, Knuckle, we’ve both slept in far worse places and positions than my chair. I’m glad to be here.”

Knuckle frowned at him, but pushed off and started shifting back into position. Shoot tried to get up but Knuckle snatched his wrist before he could. “What?”

“Lay down—we can both fit.”

Shoot’s face flared and he glanced back and found that Knuckle had positioned himself to the far side of the cot. He wasn’t quite meeting his eyes.

“What? We’ve shared beds load of times?”

Yes. But they usually weren’t as thin as a hospital bed. Knuckle placed the pillow he’d been holding to his stomach back up at the head of the bed—for him Shoot realized—and pulled the blanket back so Shoot could get under it easily. “I promise I don’t feel like throwing up anymore, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

It wasn’t though he made a face at the idea. Snatching the bucket from the floor and making a split second decision as any more thought would stop him he swung his legs up onto the bed and handed Knuckle the bucket. “Here, keep this on your side just in case.”

Knuckle grinned sheepishly and leaned over to place it on the floor next to him. “Yeah, yeah. I promise if I throw up to aim this way.”

Shoot rolled his eyes and attempted to ignore his racing heart as he tried to make himself comfortable in the small space. Knuckle grunted to himself and suddenly an arm snaked around his shoulder and pulled him close.

“’s only way we’ll both be comfortable,” Knuckle explained.

That was probably true. That fact didn’t stop his blush from burning far hotter. He didn’t say anything though—he didn’t want to move no matter his racing heart. Instead he just reached over and pulled the padded cuff off of his stump. He usually didn’t bother anymore when he slept but it couldn’t be comfortable to Knuckle’s side. Knuckle made a slight sound of surprise but didn’t say anything else as Shoot reached back over to place it on the seat of his chair before settling back down. His head was on Knuckle’s shoulder carefully placed to avoid the taped down central line—and this time _he_ placed it there instead of being pulled in. He couldn’t help the flutter of nerves at that thought. “Is… this okay?”

Knuckle hummed and shifted his head so it was leaning onto Shoot’s. Shoot swallowed. “Great,” he mumbled and Shoot swallowed a second time. He seemed half asleep and Shoot tried to follow his lead. He was tired—and it was as comforting to be here with Knuckle instead of away and worrying as it was nerve wracking. He was happy to be here even if his heart pounded and—

His heart wasn’t the only one pounding. He could hear it in his ears but there was another one—Knuckle’s was pounding as well.

Shoot stared at Knuckle’s chest at that realization—took one deep breath—and closed his eyes and urged himself to relax and sleep.

Surprisingly he did.

 

Knov, rather surprisingly, was the first to step into the hall of reverse isolation rooms. He’d arrived with Morel—but Morel had gone off to track down Knuckle and Shoot’s main doctors to seek updates. Knov hadn’t gone with him to respect their privacy—he wasn’t their next-of-kin or emergency contact after all. Knuckle’s family had arrived at the same time but had gone with him, leaving Knov on his own.

He didn’t actually enter the room—instead looking through the window and catching sight of not two but three sleeping forms. He smiled slightly at the sight. It was good they had each other, especially after the last few weeks.

Personally he thought their and Morel’s tip-toeing around the family they had made was amusing at best and downright silly at worse. If he didn’t know the boys were just as bad—and didn’t know that it was more of an inside joke than actual denial— The boys continued to buy Morel _father’_ s day gifts to this day though always offering them the week after likes that changed things—he would have talked Morel straight.

Sometimes he wondered what that made him. His and Morel’s relationship wasn’t well known—or well defined, and really he couldn’t be to surprised at the odd family denial those three partaked in considering. Few people knew anything about him and Morel and none of them knew for sure— though he had really thought Knuckle and Shoot would have asked by now.

He knew how _he_ felt. The boys had been around too long and mattered to much to his partner for him to not care about them. Nephews—Stepsons—he supposed it didn’t matter. He cared about Little Shadow and Little Mutt, simple as that. He would, and _had_ killed for them though they rarely needed that protection anymore.

Nobody hurt his family.

Except the Royal Guards and their king apparently.

Knov tsked as that thought flashed by without permission and pushed away from the window to slump over to the bench across the hall. His hands were shaking and he pulled his hat off to fiddle with it to try and still them.

He was tired of this. Tired of blaming himself and panicking all the time. The nightmares. It was easier now that they were truly gone—he was healing, but damn was it taking forever.

Sighing Knov pushed up his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose before whipping a hand over his scalp. The prickling feeling of new hair brought him some relief. He didn’t think he looked good bald. He didn’t mind the white hair—that seemed it would be permanent—though he supposed he couldn’t tease Morel about his early silver anymore.

His hands were still shaking and he sighed before going back to playing with the hat. Morel had been his constant shadow the last few weeks. Or perhaps he’d been his. He really wasn’t sure. It was rare he was given much alone time to think—and it still tended to set him off.

Morel was safety. He always had been. It was just his body craved it far more than it used to.

Plus it was nice to see proof he was alive despite his failure. Knov hadn’t killed him by not going with him.

He hadn’t killed Little Shadow and Little Mutt either.

He smiled slightly at the thought of his secret names for them. Not even Morel knew of them—he didn’t even want to imagine the teasing that would bring.

His family was okay. Palm had made it out alive if changed and avoiding him. Even Gon had healed eventually.

That had to be enough.

 

Morel sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. He knew he wouldn’t get a lot of information from the doctors especially Knuckle’s as Knuckle had asked him to keep quiet on many things, as was his right. He couldn’t help his worry though.

He wasn’t really concerned about Shoot—with physical therapy he’d be fine eventually, or at least that was what he was being told. From what he could tell Shoot hadn’t asked the doctors to hide anything from him so he was pretty sure that was true. The doctor had happily explained some of the therapy and exercises he’d be doing—Morel didn’t envy him for sure—but he would be _fine._

Knuckle on the other hand… Morel may have made the mistake, as Knov had put it dryly, of looking up exactly what a bone marrow transfusion was and may have learned about the risks involved. He’d hoped that talking with the doctor would help alleviate that new worry as Knuckle himself would have just said he’d be fine—and it had to a point, Knuckle was taking the least risky of his options, but only so much.

“Mr. Mackernasey?”

Morel grimaced. “Morel, please.”

Ms. Bine smiled slightly. “Morel then. I wanted to thank you.”

Morel glanced at her. “For what?”

“For taking care of Knuckle all these years. For saving him from that gang and seeing his worth instead of throwing him away. For giving him a home and a passion. He always sounded so happy and pleased and dedicated in the letters he sent me. You gave him an opportunity I never could have.”

“Also for the flight and hotel and food,” Nana offered dryly beside her.

Morel snorted. “That opportunity I gave him is the reason he’s in this mess,” he countered grimly and guiltily. “I wouldn’t be thanking me.”

“Perhaps it is,” Ms. Bine agreed with a smile. “But it could have been worse much earlier. I could have never heard from him again. He could have spent his life in jail or ended up at the bottom of a river or shot.” Morel had to look away as she continued his stomach twisting at the idea. “Because of that opportunity he is alive and surrounded by people who care about and love him, including you. So thank you.”

Morel had no idea what to say. So he offered a shaky smile before ducking into one of the decontamination rooms, glad for the escape.

They met back up on the other side dressed up in borrowed scrubs.

Nana Bine spotted him, snorted—he should have known thatw ouldn’t be the end of it—and then asked dryly, “Are all you boys guilt-prone messes?” she asked rather seriously. “Even that sweet girl Palm was full of guilt. The only one I haven’t heard sorry from is the suit and at this point I’m expecting it from him to.”

“ _Mama!_ ”

“What? It’s the truth?”

Morel scratched the back of his neck and offered an awkward laugh. Then he glanced down the hall and realized they weren’t alone. Knov was sitting on the bench before the boy’s room fiddling with his cap lost in thought. Morel frowned, he recognized that new habit. “Knov—?”

 

“— You haven’t gone in?” Morel’s face was creased in concern and Knov quickly replaced his hat and tilted his head to the window.

“They’re not awake yet—didn’t want to wake them.”

The three others turned to look through the window and to Knov’s amusement Nana Bine let out a low whistle.

“It’s about time.”

Morel snorted. “Knowing them they ended up like that without saying or admitting a thing.” He glanced over at Knov over their heads and grinned. “Though now might be a good time to set up another bet. Maybe one of us will finally win. 10 thousand they’ll figure it out within the two months after they leave?”

Knov pushed his glasses up. They’d been betting on these two since they had entered their Hunter exam eleven years ago without a win in sight. “Hmm, 10 thousand they admit it before they are both released from the hospital.”

Ms. Bine looked lost as she glanced between the two men but Nana crackled. “A bet, sign me up!”

Both men glanced at each other in concern. They betted high and there was no way she would be able to match them.

“I bet three apple pies and a homemade scarf it takes them between three and five months to figure it out.”

“Mom,” Ms. Bine sighed.

Taking one last glance at him in which he nodded, Morel offered his hand for her to shake which she did in relish.

“Ana, go in and wake them—you’ll embarrass them the least. We don’t need them to explode from embarrassment just as we start a bet.”

“Sure, mom, sure,” Ms. Bine rolled her eyes like a much younger woman and entered the room. Despite her words Nana Bine followed almost on her heel.

Knov walked over to Morel and gave him a look. Morel shifted slightly in the way Knov knew meant he had glanced away from his gaze. “What were you talking about when you came in?”

He shifted again. Now he had definitely shifted his gaze. “Ms. Bine thanked me for taking care of Knuckle,” he admitted slowly and with a bit of reluctance. Knov smirked and gave him a look that had Morel huffing. “Yeah, yeah, you told me so and all that.” Then he glanced back at him with a frown and a raised eyebrow. “You were playing with your cap?”

Knov’s smirk fell and he glanced away.

Morel snorted humorlessly and gave him a quick side hug and squeeze before following. Knov sighed but smiled slightly.

 

“Nice hair you two.”

Knuckle snorted tiredly as rubbed at his eyes. He glanced over at Shoot, most of his braid had unraveled. His hair crinkled and fluffy and the rest was misshapen and oversized from his poor performance last night.

Shoot himself just glared at his nana and Knuckle smirked a bit at the look. It had always amused him that Shoot—when woken before he wanted to be and still half asleep—got grumpy and wasn’t afraid to make that clear. He’d be a bit embarrassed later but for now he was just _done_.

“Sorry to get you up,” Morel added as he entered the room, Knov at his heel. “But you all have a busy day don’t you? Physical Therapy for Shoot, Marrow transfusion for Knuckle, Meleoron is moving out… You’re going to want to eat something before that.”

“Don’t see you with any food,” Knuckle yawned.

Morel shrugged. “How are you feeling?”

Did terrified count Knuckle wondered. Probably but it wasn’t something he wanted to share. “Well I haven’t thrown up in—” He glanced over to the clock, “twelvish hours so there is that.”

Morel just hummed. “And when are your… appointments exactly?”

“Ten,” Meleoron yawned before giving Shoot and Knuckle a smirk. Both of them ignored him.

“Eleven,” Shoot and Knuckle said as one before glancing at each other in surprise. “Oh.”

“Well you defiantly better get eating then. I’ll go see if I can find a nurse.”

He left as quickly as he came and Knuckle and Shoot stared at each other for a moment longer before they glanced away. Shoot shifted so he was sitting on the bed with his legs on the floor and awkwardly pulled at his hair, trying to straighten it into some kind of organized mess.

Knuckle wanted to offer to help but with so many people he was too embarrassed to try. Funny, really. Shoot probably would agree right now, still grumpy from drowsiness but _he_ was the one too nervous to make the move. Instead he looked over and smiled at his mother as she fussed over him.

He couldn’t really blame her. He was her only child and had only seen her three times since he’d run away at eleven. Letters only did so much and she had a lot of backed up mothering to let out.

“So I leaned something today, Knucklehead,” his nana greeted him with. Knuckle raised an eyebrow. “You teacher is just as much of a guilt-prone idiot as you are.”

Knuckle blinked.

His mother groaned. “Mama!”

“What, these idiot boys need to learn to communicate better.” She gave Knuckle a look, and then one over his shoulder to where Shoot had just stood and was being drawn into a conversation with Palm.

Knuckle huffed. “I’m planning on it, alright—I just want some time first.” Shaking his head he switched tracks. “Morel’s guilty about me,” Knuckle guessed and at Nana’s look he frowned. “Why?”

“Why do you think, it’s stupid but it’s obvious.”

Knuckle blinked.

Nana sighed. “You know what, never mind.”

 

With Shoot and Meleoron gone, Mama, Nana, and Morel took turns sitting with him as the transfusion happened. It wasn’t exactly a slow procedure—he just had to wait until the blood was in his system, and he got returned to the room after his last dose of radiation.

He didn’t even throw up this time.

Still they stuck around.

He wasn’t much company. He might not have thrown up but he still felt so nauseous his head was nauseous and he was pretty sure it was a hazard risk to the rest of the room to open his mouth so talking was out. He wanted to sleep through it really but the only thing harder to think of then how nauseous he was, was how nervous he was that this would fail.

He rather dwell on his stomach personally.

Still his mother’s hand in his hair and his nana’s humming as she knitted was calming and more than nostalgic.

Then Morel showed up to take their place as they went in search of food. He was alone—for once Knov hadn’t followed him, and for a while he just sat next to him like a giant watch dog. Some of the nausea had abated—some being a keyword—and Knuckle was just about to drift off when Morel spoke.

“I figured it was only fair to tell you but I didn’t know what a Bone Marrow Transfusion was like so I looked it up.”

Knuckle grimaced. He hadn’t wanted people to worry about that.

“I also seeked out your doctor for more information—he didn’t tell me much of coarse but he did tell me which kind you’re getting.”

“It’s the safest kind I can do,” Knuckle mumbled sinking further into his blanket.

“He said, I just thought it was only fair to tell you I did that.”

“Thanks,” Knuckle said. He was thankful. “I didn’t want you to have to worry about it.”

Morel snorted and ruffled his hair. “I am your master you know, it’s my job to worry.”

Knuckle made a face. “I’m also an adult.”

“Maybe, but you’ll always be my student to me.”

Knuckle’s face deepened. “Geeze, thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

Morel sighed and ruffled his hair again. “Please. I’ve considered you fully independent and capable since you got your license—if you remember that’s when I told you that you could leave at any time—” He smiled rather softly for him. “But you haven’t yet.”

Knuckle looked away face warm. “Yeah… well it’s simpler not to.” He paused. “Plus I like sticking around.”

“And I like you sticking around too,” Morel grinned and this time squeezed his shoulder, leaving his hand there afterward.

Knuckle smiled slightly and then glanced away. He then frowned and sighed. “Well if were sharing things others should know— Nana ratted you out about being guilty… about me?”

To his complete surprise Morel’s tanned cheeks went a bit pink.

“She did?”

“Yeeeeah… the only things Nana keeps to herself is where she hid the bodies and other such things,” Knuckle said awkwardly and Morel honestly wasn’t sure if that was an exaggeration, a joke, or completely serious. He could see any of the three.

Morel sighed deeply. “You’ve been my student for fourteen years. I care about you. Seeing both you and Shoot hurt so badly in a mission I was all but commanding hits hard sometimes.”

“Does it help that I don’t blame you,” Knuckle asked slowly, scratching at his neck. “The only person I can blame for getting caught and irradiated is me—and I don’t think it’s really fair to blame myself for not being faster than a pumped up Meruem.”

Morel laughed slightly. “No. And if you did I would have to strengthen you out.”

“I figured as much.” Knuckle grinned tiredly. “Plus Knov did offer to take us out of there—but _I_ decided to stick around. So did Meleoron. Honestly—radiation was the last thing I expected to have to worry about—even with the rose.”

Morel sighed. “Unfortunately it was the last thing any of us is expected to worry about.”

“…I had this talk with Palm but if you need it to…?”

Morel snorted and squeezed his shoulder. “No, I’m fine. I’m good. How are you feeling?”

Instantly Knuckle grimaced. “Thanks for reminding me—I think this is what being seasick is like.”

Morel laughed but rubbed his thumb on his shoulder in sympathy. “You’ll have to ask Shoot. It took him two years to be on any smallish sea craft without feeling sick.”

“And he still feels a bit off in storms,” Knuckle continued with a grin. He’d been lucky and took naturally to sea legs. Shoot not as much.

“My little sailor.”

That caused Knuckle’s face to burn. That was a bit further than they usually went or shared. Morel just chuckled slightly, squeezed his shoulder one last time and shifted back into his chair. Back on his silent watch.

After a long moment Knuckle reached for his phone and attempted to ignore the flowing sensation in his chest that could kill him as easily as save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So full disclosure I took a lot of inspiration from tastewithouttalent series of stories Series Particularly Knuckle's obsession with Shoot's hair, helping him braid and take it down to "save Nen" and Shoot's over-sensitive ears because they are amazing stories and have influenced a lot of my headcanons.
> 
> Again I love Subtle stepdad Knov.


	7. The Final Leg

The next week went by slowly. Shoot returned from therapy everyday looking as miserable and tired as Knuckle felt—maybe even more so. More than once Knuckle managed to nag him into taking a nap and resting his leg on Meleoron’s abandon bed. He would have rather had him nap with him… but with a separate bed free Shoot would be far more comfortable over there.

It had nothing to do with being to nervous to offer without a good excuse. Nothing at all.

Knuckle spent the week trying to not fret and failing horribly. Of all the time he’d been here this had been the hardest of all. He could do nothing but wait and see. Wait—exhausted and pained with blood being taken every few hours and _wait_.

It was slowly driving him insane.

Everyone else did their best to keep his mind off it—as much as they knew there was to keep off of. Morel and Knov were around when they could be—which was less than before as the Kakin Empire and Beyond Netero became a bigger deal. The more Knuckle heard about it the more he wished he could go—because Morel had already admitted it was all but a forgone conclusion that Hunters would be going if the Kakin Kingdom did.

Also the more he resented being sick—the chance he would be recovered enough to be allowed to go was minimal, not in the next few months at least… not to a super dangerous continent with known super bugs when his immune system was likely to be crap for quite a while.

If he wasn’t…well… _dead_.

But just thinking of all the unknown creatures that would populate such a place got him excited. Someone needed to be there to document them… and also make sure nobody took advantage of then unfairly. Knuckle had fallen asleep imagining it many times.

Shoot was also interested—despite himself in his case, and Knuckle had to needle him to admit it. His focus had always been in Imaginary Beasts and this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Unlike him, his leg would likely heal by the time anything happened—apparently it would have to wait until at least the next Hunter exam in January. Knuckle had pointed that fact out. Shoot had only looked more conflicted.

Knuckle’s fantasies got a little more to work with when Morel—never one to keep much from his students—mentioned that Cheadle had talked to him about the logistics of such a task. Fishing him to see if he’d be willing to help he suspected. He’d admitted to being intrigued—even from what little Cheadle was willing to give to him without him signing on—sailing out into waters few captains had ever ventured spoke to him—especially after months of land time and all the bullcrap the association was trying to sucker him into doing.

Knuckle grinned at him, “you could take Shoot with you.”

Morel had stared at him for a long moment. Only just realizing that could be a possibility, or surprised over Knuckle not mentioning himself, or who knew what else, Knuckle sure didn’t. Whatever it was Morel frowned slowly for a long moment—as if debating saying something.

He shrugged instead. “It’s still not confirmed there even will _be_ a trip.”

The conversation moved away after that.

 

His earlier rash had finally faded away so Knuckle wasn’t happy to wake up one morning with his shoulder’s itching. Still half asleep he reached up to attempt to scratch only to let out a hiss as it burned. Actually waking up he stared down at the red—almost lacy marks that covered his shoulders. Then he leaned over and pressed the call button.

Several nurses and then a doctor looked over him—took and retook his vitals—asked questions Knuckle could only vaguely answer and both took blood and dumped who knew what into his central line.

Knuckle had been exhausted before. Now just kind of felt dead. He’d had all the itchy diseases as a kid—his mother couldn’t afford vaccinations then and his country hadn’t yet offered them free for kids. Time must have faded the memory though as this was torture. Nothing like his back had been.

A nurse had rubbed a cream on it to try and help—and he’d been given something for pain apparently but it was only doing so much. He was half tempted to ask for a sedative before the hour was out.

None the less though it was good news.  Or at least something better than the waiting. He did do his best to understand what the different doctors and nurses told him—and several were pretty good at dumbing it all down. While it sucked to have now the fact he did meant they had a good idea on how to go from here.

Plus according to the doc so far this only counted as “red maculopapular rash grade 1” which was pretty mild –Not that he liked thinking of a worse version of this—which was a good sign that things were working more or less and he probably _wasn’t_ about to die.

 

“You look miserable,” Palm greeted. Knuckle forced an eye open—his eyes were annoyingly dry—apparently _another_ symptom—and stared dully at her. “Wow, grumpy much.”

He debated flipping her off, but that meant moving his arms and that meant moving his shoulders.

“Shoot’s sorry he couldn’t come yet, they moved his therapy time today.”

Knuckle grunted and closed his eyes again.

“ _Wow_ , I know I’m not as pretty to you but you could at least look at me,” she teased. Knuckle didn’t bother to reply. Palm’s voice softened. “ _Damn_ , you really don’t feel good. It looks a lot like your other rash so I didn’t think it was too much of a big deal—guess not, huh?”

To his embarrassment he let out a whine in agreement.

“Geeze, anything I can do?”

“Tell them to knock me out for the next few weeks,” Knuckle huffed.

“I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

“Then no.” Knuckle waited for a long moment. Palm was silent. “Well… can you just…talk?”

“Hmm…?”

Knuckle huffed again. “It’s just… to _quiet_ in here. I’m not used to having my own room for so long. And I could… use a distraction—I keep wanting to _scratch_ but that’s a thousand times _worse_.”

“If it’ll help…” She paused. “Knov had a meeting with Cheadle. He thinks she wants him to help with the Dark Continent mess.”

“Morel did to,” Knuckle mumbled. “He’s interested.”

“Knov is… not as interested.”

“Huh, really?” Knuckle opened his eyes again to find Palm worried.

“Yeah… well…” Palm sighed. “Chimera Ants are suspected to have come _from_ the Dark Continent.”

“Oh?... _OH?_ Yeah that could be a problem…” Knuckle’s lips pursed in concern. Knov seemed to be doing better but faced with the source of his trauma… “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“ _You_ want to go, I bet?”

Knuckle let his eyes droop again. “Hell yeah, to bad I probably won’t be able to.”

“Why?”

“My immune system will be shit for who knows how long and there are super bugs over there… not talking about the _ants_ either.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah… Shoot should go through, he wants to but when I bring it up he always looks so conflicted.”

Palm snorted in that way that Knuckle knew he’d miss something. He scowled and waited—knowing Palm wouldn’t be able to resist telling him.

“He doesn’t want to go _without_ you, Knucklehead. He knows you want to go but can’t.” Her voice softened. “Plus after this whole mess he just doesn’t want to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself,” Knuckle huffed without any heat.

“We both know that’s not what I meant.”

Knuckle considered that… and then changed the subject. “Well… still. That’s kind of dumb. If I can’t go I rather he’d be there to make sure nobody fucks anything up… and take lots of pictures…I wonder if you can get phone reception…”

“Have you told him that?”

“No…”

“Well there you go.”

Knuckle humped in protest of Palm probably being right. “Whatever… what else has been going on with you?”

“Well… I’ve been practicing with my new powers—trying to find out all I can do. Knov has been helping me some—you could say I’ve started training again though it’s certainly different from before.”

“So… not awkward anymore.”

“Some…We’ve kind of talked and mostly haven’t but it better now.”

Knuckle snorted. “That is kind of how we handle things in this family.”

“And I would say it’s a pain in the ass but well… I can’t say I’m better in this instance.” She paused. It was long enough that Knuckle opened his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m family?”

Knuckle glanced away a bit red. “I meant it was a joke but—you _are_ Knov’s student and me and Shoot consider him sorta family, I guess—we don’t really talk about that but… and you’ve been there for me and Shoot a lot these last few weeks.” He reached up and almost scratched at his cheek before remembering himself. “Plus… you don’t creep the hell out of me anymore or ignore our presence like... you… used… to.”

Knuckle paused wondering if that was too far. She had liked his honestly before but…

Palm sighed. “I guess I did, didn’t I…” Knuckle peeked over and to his surprise Palm seemed a bit wistful. “It’s a nice idea.”

Knuckle snorted feeling awkward. “If you want to be our weird little stepsister thing, it’s your loss.”

“I suppose I really have no choice at this point,” Palm said but her smile and gaze was still soft. Then it sharpened and she smirked at him. “How does being brothers effect the whole crush thing.”

Knuckle groaned. “We’re not _actually_ brothers first of all. Second we weren’t _raised_ as brothers either—we were students who met in their teens. Don’t make this _weird._ ”

Palm laughed at him.

“Yeah, well—how dose being our stepsibling effect your whole crush on Knov,” Knuckle demanded.

Palm’s laugh stopped. She stared down at him and again Knuckle wondered if he’d gone too far.

“It doesn’t, I guess…” She mused. “I don’t really feel that way anymore I think. I don’t think I ever really _did_ … I was just confused and assumed and fell into the role—”Knuckle bit back a comment on the vein of _Yandere_ —even he knew that was way too far “—I care about him a _lot_ , but otherwise…”

“That’s…good,” Knuckle tried. He was so not equipped for this conversation.

“Yes, Knuckle, that is good,” Palm laughed. “I mean I guess—it’s not like I ever had a chance anyway—and it makes things a lot less… complicated between us. And well... _all_ of us to.”

Knuckle frowned at that. “Do you… _know_ anything?”

She snorted. “I mean…not _specifics_ , but their pretty obvious.”

Knuckle considered her. “Do you… does that _bother_ you? Or bother you to think about it?”

“Not… no, not really?”

“Then… what is _your_ opinion on them possibly dating but not realizing it—?”

 

Knuckle woke with a start. He blinked a few times at the ceiling as he remembered where he was, and once he managed that, he allowed himself to relax on his pillow. It had been a long time since he had that dream.

“Are you alright?”

Knuckle glanced over to one side to see Shoot in his wheelchair, reading a book in the scrubs he had to wear. He was glancing up over it with his brows furrowed slightly in concern.

Knuckle managed to wave one hand slightly, god he was tired, god his shoulders and now chest hurt. “I’m fine. How long have you been here? You could have woken me up; I sleep enough as it is.”

“Only a few minutes,” Shoot responded. Then his lips twitched a little. “And how many times have you sat next to me while I was sleeping?”

Knuckle grunted and closed his eyes. He didn’t have energy for a proper witty response.

“Dreaming?”

Knuckle nodded with a wry grin. “Yeah, not really a good one, not really bad either. Not anymore anyway.”

Shoot hummed, showing interest without pushing, Knuckle felt his lips quirk.

“I was drowning.”

The hum stopped and Knuckle could feel the stare. His lip quirked more.

“Do you know how I met Morel?”

“No. Just that you and he clashed over some gang activity, and that he saw something in you.”

Knuckle hummed again. That was one way of putting it. “The gang I was in—got indebted to, whatever, they had this major drug smuggling operation.”

“I remember the puppies.”

Knuckle scowled for a second at the reminder. That had not been a good time. Poor puppies, nobody deserved what happened to them. “Yes, well before that they had a major operation where they would take a boat out at sea to collect shipments of drugs from nations all over. That’s where Morel came in.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I was there that time. It was a two or so day trip to where the meet up was, and there was this cat they had aboard to keep rats and what not away from the ‘merchandise.’” With some effort he managed to make air quotes for that. “I befriended her, named her Private because why not, it seemed like a navy-ish name.”

“Sounds like you.”

“Then we met the other ship just as a storm rolled in—nobody was there though—at least until Morel appeared from nowhere. There was a fight; the leader demanded I distract Morel while they escaped on the life raft. It was storming, the wind and waves picking up, and of course it was all foggy thanks to Morel, though I didn’t know that at the time.”

Knuckle licked his lips. They stung, dry and cracked from bleeding.

“I was scared, of course I was, but I approached him,” he grinned. “Yelled at him, probably half of why he figured maybe I had some spunk but then—a big wave hit, and Private—I saw her fall overboard.” Knuckle laughed. “I didn’t even flinch, just yelled her name, and jumped off deck. I still remember the confused horror on Morel’s face when I did that. I wasn’t the greatest swimmer either, I barely managed to snatch her and throw her on some debris before a wave knocked me under—then I was waking up in the hospital with her purring in my ear, my ribs burning.”

Knuckle stared at the ceiling with a wry smile.

“That’s what I was dreaming of.”

It was quiet for a while.

“I met Morel the same day I lost my arm.”

Knuckle blinked over at him. He almost told Shoot to stop. He hadn’t meant to make him feel the need to share. _He_ had just wanted to, but the look on Shoot’s face—not nervous in the slightest, just a bit complaintive, stopped him.

“I didn’t… have the nicest childhood, either people were so neutral about my presence they didn’t matter, or they were… negative. The only… there was this stray dog I befriended… but one day I came across some thugs harassing him and tried to defend him. They beat me – damaged my arm enough it had to be removed—also activated my Nen—even managed a hand for a moment …

“Morel overheard and found us, stopped them. I passed out and woke up in the hospital the next day without an arm… my parents… they had already barely tolerated me… they weren’t going to when I wasn’t even whole… in my country it was legal, as long as they were thirteen or under, to legally abandoned a child at a hospital…” A wry grin of his own flickered across Shoot’s face. “I was eleven.

“Morel… He’d come to check up on the kid he saved, and to try and explain the whole Nen thing. Even…: Shoot smiled softly. “Even brought this stuffed dog for me and then he found out and… he offered me a home that same day.”

“Sounds like him,” Knuckle mumbled once it became clear to him that Shoot was done. It seemed silly that this was the first time they’d shared their stories but… also right as well. They were friends now— _again_ and that thought still made him want to give a silly grin.

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the visit.

 

Knuckle licked his dry lips and tried to resist reaching for the eye drops he’d been given for his dry eyes as he stared his doctor and one of the nurses who was always taking his blood down. Morel and Shoot sat at either side of him. It had been two weeks since the rash had developed and Knuckle was tired.

He was also nervous—the last time his doctor spoke to him like this was to tell him he needed the bone marrow transfusion. He really hoped he didn’t need another one.

“I come with good news,” the doctor started and Knuckle’s stomach swooped in relief. “The last three days of your blood tests shows a stabilization of your white blood cell count.”

Knuckle allowed himself to fall back on his pillow in relief.

“Also—while it could just be natural fluctuations—the change in number is very small— the last few tests have also shown a slight increases in your white blood cell count. It could be a sign that your marrow is recovering and so are your white blood cells.”

At first Knuckle couldn’t say anything. Both Shoot and Morel turned to look at him as he stared down the doctor. Then finally he blurted, “Wait, so I’m _not_ going to lose all my hair.” He grinned tiredly. “Awesome.”

Morel snorted, Shoot shook his head slightly and the doctor and nurse laughed.

“Yes, in fact your hair should recover fully,” the nurse injected with a smile, “though it will probably take a few months before it starts growing back.”

Knuckle grinned harder. He suspected he looked a little delirious. “Double awesome.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Additionally, though it has spread some, your maculopapular rash dry eyes have remained minor. While it will likely take some time for it to go away, I’m cautiously optimistic that all signs show that things are working as ideally as could have been expected. With any luck you will be moved out of these rooms in a manner of weeks, though we will likely hold you in a normal room for at least a week after to assure your immune system can handle it before moving you to being an outpatient.”

Morel let out a booming laugh and only just stopped himself from reaching over and shaking his shoulder. Shoot turned and gave him a grin larger than Knuckle had seen on his face in years, eyes soft.

“That’s great,” Knuckle replied, exhausted but happy.

 

Later that evening they celebrated. Someone, Knuckle didn’t know who, had convinced the staff to let them all eat in the room. Someone, again Knuckle had no idea who, had even gotten him a blanket with wolves on it—convincing the nurses to launder it so they would be sure it was clean and disease free, since he couldn’t ever see the therapy animals in the reverse isolation room. Something that had bummed him out severely when Palm had showed him a picture of Shoot sleeping with a cat.

He might had begged her for that picture too…

A couple of the nurses even supplied a pie from the cafeteria—still warm to assure no contamination and several “balloons,” made from rubber gloves and oxygen tanks.

Music played quietly from his phone—Morel had snatched it and chosen the band but thankfully Knuckle liked them as well. People talked and laughed and Knuckle mostly watched and tried not to scratch and soaked in this odd warmth that the room seemed to pulse with.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart?” his mother asked quietly in Romasa. Her hand gently touched his head and Knuckle leaned into the touch.

“I’m fine, Mama, just tired.”

“Do you want us to leave so you can sleep?”

Knuckle shook his head and winced as it pulled at his rash.

“Alright, would you like some pie?”

Knuckle groaned. “Yes please, I haven’t had anything near edible in weeks.”

She walked off to get him his pie and Knuckle couldn’t help his eyes drifting shut again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep,” Shoot asked from his other side. Knuckle shifted his head in his direction but didn’t open his eyes.

“No, I want pie,” he muttered then grinned slightly and opened his eyes just a bit. He was amused by the blatant concern on Shoot’s face. “I’m fine… I _like_ everyone being here and being happy—things have been too gloomy and lonely lately,” he admitted the last bit softly and glanced away from Shoot’s gaze.

Shoot’s concern faded and softened and he offered a small smile. Knuckle smiled back and then perked up as his mother returned with a large slice of pie.

As he took his first bite Shoot mumbled, “I do too…”

And that was even better than the pie.

 

“You know, you’re supposed to vacate your room by eleven right?” Shoot jumped and spun nearly falling in his new—far thinner and manageable—walking cast. He blinked at Knuckle who sat in a wheelchair at his door.

“Knuckle…You’re out already?”

“Yup, It’s not like I had a lot of packing up to do,” he motioned to the blanket over his legs and the phone in his breast pocket. “Or that I’m getting discharged, I’m just changing rooms.”

Shoot shook his head and walked over to him. He still walked with a bit of a limp, but that was half his cast then actual issue with his leg. “I suppose—where is your nurse?—you didn’t wheel yourself here did you?”

Knuckle snorted. “If I had my way I would have walked but no.” He grinned. “I convinced Amy to sneak me up to the door and then disappear for a few minutes so I could surprise you.”

Shoot shook his head again. “You really do have them all under your thumb don’t you.”

Knuckle to Shoot’s amusement looked confused. “What do you mean?” Of course Knuckle would only be half aware of his flirting—or his charm—or how all the nurses who worked with him were enamored in some way or another.

“Nevermind.” Shoot turned back to the small bag he been placing the few knickknacks he’d received over the last few months. He could have really left and become an outpatient a while ago—but since he didn’t live anywhere near here and this room was reserved for Hunters whenever possible—and nobody had needed it—he’d been allowed to stay.

Plus… well… he _liked_ being near Knuckle. Knuckle had been near _him_ for as long as he could, sleeping in his room, offering him comfort and bringing him news.

But Knuckle was finally out of the reverse isolation room and Shoot was finally getting sick of the smell of antiseptic, so it was time to go.

“You know it’s funny—the discharge you and shove me right into your room,” Knuckle grinned from his chair, still looking far too thin but far more energized. The rash was gone from his shoulders and his dry eye had all but cleared up already. The doctor had said he’d only have about a week of observation before they would let him become an outpatient like Shoot.

Shoot hummed in agreement.

“You know what’s also kind of weird now…” Knuckle mused. Shoot glanced over to him. “You in normal clothing—well psudo-normal clothing for you anyway.” Morel had brought Shoot a sweatshirt and sweat pants to come home in, along with a jacket for the fall chill. It wasn’t exactly his style but it was easy to put on and was warm.

Knuckle wheeled himself over to the bed, Shoot couldn’t help but be slightly jealous, and stood up before collapsing down on it—nearly squishing Shoot’s bag. Shoot gave him a look and Knuckle smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s just nice to be out of that room. The furthest I could ever walk was to the bathroom and back. I’m actually looking forward to physical therapy.”

While stuck in the hospital they had agreed to help him make up for his loss weight and muscle mass. It would only be a start to regain the fitness he’d had before he’d spent months in a single room but it would be a start.

“Maybe we’ll go together,” Shoot mused as he zipped up his bag.

Knuckle’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, maybe—I’ll ask, that’ll be like old times as kids.”

Shoot smiled slightly at the idea and sat down next to Knuckle on the bed. Morel would be here soon to lead him to the hotel he’d been living in with Knov, Palm, and Ikalgo. Apparently he’d paid for a new room for Shoot—one with two beds Palm had teased. Not that that was new—him and Knuckle usually shared a room when such a things was offered, rare as it was. He’d still blushed.

Knuckle pulled on the bottom of his shirt and when Shoot glanced down grinned up at him. “Want to see the next batch of hat’s me and Killua are sending Knov?”

Shoot laughed. “Sure.”

 

“Mom! Help! She’s shooting me,” Knuckle complained just as his mother entered his room. He regretted his words instantly as Palm popped up from behind her and grinned wildly.

“Is that innuendo?”

Knuckle had never been happier Shoot was away at therapy than right now. “Palm!”

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“Now what are you complaining about now?” Nana derailed after a nice long cackle. Knuckle pouted.

“My immune system is completely new,” he explained as he gestured to the nurses who was biting her lip to keep from laughing. “I have to get revaccinated with literally _everything_.”

“Is _that_ why you’re sitting there in your underwear?” Nana asked incredulous. “’cause none of us needed to see that.”

“Thanks, Nana,” Knuckle replied dryly. He’d lost a lot of muscle definition but he didn’t think he looked _that_ bad. Even with the gauze tapped on his stomach from the sticks do to his lasting anemia and bleeding, though admittedly the central line sticking from his chest was still a bit much to look at for long. He was glad to be done with it in a few days.

“If I gave them all to him in his arms they would go numb,” the nurse replied as she came over with another syringe. “So I placed some in his stomach and thighs instead.” She turned to him looking sympathetic. “We’re almost done, this is the last one.”

As Knuckle sighed in relief she sticked him in the arm. He yelped and glared and she looked up at him cheekily. “It hurts less when you’re relaxed.”

“To bad,” Palm mused. “Shoot’s therapy is almost over—could have given him a show.”

Knuckle’s face burned harder and he reached back and threw his pillow at Palm who wacked it away with a laugh. Pouting he reached for his shirt. Like hell he’d do that… while they were around.

 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright without us?” Ms. Bine worried as she hovered over Knuckle’s bedside. Knuckle, sitting up with his legs over the edge, sighed and shared an amused look with Nana.

“Yes, Mama, I’ll be fine. It’s just a waiting game now, really. I’ll be out of here in a few days.”

“We could stay until then.”

Knuckle stood and gave his mother the first proper hug since this whole mess began. “Really mom, it’s _fine_. You have your own lives.” He leaned back concerned. “I know you must have quit your job to be down here as long as you have been.”

Ms. Bine averted her eyes and waved him away. “It’s fine, cleaners are always wanted.”

“Even so… if you would just accept—”

“We’ll be fine, Knuckle.”

Knuckle groaned. His mother, to his vast frustration, had given him a limit a long time ago on how much money she would accept from him despite the fact he could easily offer more. He’d paid off their house and made sure they had good health care with a little extra to help with food and that was it. She rather he did his other favorite thing to do with the stupid amount of money he tended to be paid with—which was donate to animal rescues, good zoos, sanctuaries, and shelters—occasionally even fund new no-kill shelters.

Nana snorted. “Ana just take some of that money so he can focus on getting better instead of worrying about us,” she sighed and Knuckle shot her a thankful glance.

“Please, Mama?” He tried and he could see the exact moment she gave in.

“ _Fine_. But only this once—it’s _your_ money—”

“To do as _I_ wish—which is this,” Knuckle interrupted cheekily, grinning as he was lightly hit upside the head.

Her gaze softened and she pulled him back into a hug. “I am so proud of you,” she murmured into his chest. “You took the pitiful beginning I gave you and became someone great. Someone who could change the world and makes it better every day he can.”

Knuckle felt his eyes water and he rested his chin on her head. “It wasn’t pitiful, Mama, without you and Nana I would have never been the person who caught Morel’s eye. It’s all because of _you_ two.”

“Flatterer.” Nana said dryly though she was smiling fondly and both Knuckle and his mother laughed tearily.

“Please keep in touch,” she muttered.

“I promise. I’ll call you every day until I’m out of here and while I’m still an out-patient and let you know what’s going on.” Knuckle closed his eyes and did his best to imprint this moment into his memory. “And… as soon as I can, before I pick up another job I’ll come visit again okay—a few months at most.”

“Bring that boy, Shoot, with you,” Nana demanded as she finally joined the hug with a gleam in her eye. Knuckle sighed but nodded.

“I’ll _ask_ him if he wants to come,” he offered and took her grunt as acceptance. He then paused, considered, dreaded but continued. She _was_ his weird little stepsister now. “I’ll even ask Palm is she wants to come. You two seemed to have hit it off.”

The glint was still there as she looked up at him. “That would be wonderful. She’s a sweet girl. Did you know she’s interested in learning how to knit?”

“No, Nana, I didn’t.”

As Nana went off on her story Knuckle let his eyes close again. No. _This_ was the exact moment he wanted burned into his memory.

 

It was a cold mid-day in late November when Knuckle finally stepped out of the hospital for the first time since August. He paused to let the sun fall on his face, Shoot stilling beside him. His leg clear of any cast—only an ankle and knee brace just in case and soon even those would be gone.

Knuckle grinned at Shoot who smiled back and they continued. In his hands was a box of his possessions—his blanket, a few gifts and a dozen or so vases from the flowers Palm had flooded his room with as soon as she was allowed. He still felt weak—at least compared to how he was before—with little muscle definition and fatigued legs but with the sun and cold, crisp air he also felt giddy.

“Hey Guys!”

Both Shoot and Knuckle jumped as Palm threw her gloved arms around their shoulders. Shoot dropped one of the vases he was holding—a plastic one thankfully—and all three them watched as it tinked to the ground and rolled around them and several feet away.

“Nice.” Palm continued before brightening again. “But guess what?”

“What, Palm?” Knuckle groaned.

“The Dark Continent voyage has been finalized.”

That perked him up. “It has?”

“Mhmm, that whale ship is going to set sale…” She grinned. “Next August.”

“Oh…” Knuckle blinked. That was further away than he had expected. Half a year.

“Yup, and it’ll likely take four to five months for it to get where it’s going.” She winked at him. Knuckle and Shoot had already been told by Morel about the bait and switch that was happening with the civilians on the ship.

Knuckle did the math instantly—a year from now it would make it to the New Continent… maybe he…

“And both Morel and Knov agreed to help,” she continued her voice lowering so only the three could hear. “Morel is going to be driving the… second ship and Knov is going to set a relay point at an island near the New Continent so they can move personnel and supplies as needed.”

It took only a second for Knuckle to realize what she was hinting at. “By then I should be okay…” he started slowly sharing a wide gaze with Shoot. “If I can get permission maybe—With Knov’s help—”

“It’s already part of my contract that I get to choose my own team—background check aside,” Morel interrupted from behind them. They turned as one somewhat awkwardly—almost bumping off the hat Palm was wearing to attempt to hide the orb on her head—and found Morel and Knov, and behind them by a rented van Ikalgo and Meleoron. Knov bent and picked up the fallen vase with a raised eyebrow and all three of them grinned sheepishly “And assuming they are up to it—and that includes a doctor’s referral, _Knuckle_ —I see no reason why you wouldn’t make the team.”

His voice was stern but he grinned at them, and Knuckle couldn’t help but grin back like a goof. He glanced over to Shoot to realize he was much the same and that almost sent him to laughter.

He was going to get to go—and he _was_ going to be healthy enough, he would make sure of it—but he was also going to go with _his_ family.

And that was so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look a happy ending! Who would have though XP
> 
> Can you tell I really want Shoot and Knuckle to show up in the DC arc? In particular I actually really want them to interact with leorio.
> 
> Also, about Romasa I mentioned here: The language of the country/nation they are from. From “Romance” because for some reason I love the idea of Knuckle coming from the same nation as Leorio. A mix of Italy and Spain plus other stuff—both the language and culture. Unfortunately this nation has high poverty rates that both Leorio and Knuckle dealt with, Though Leorio was from a city inland and Knuckle in a city with a port.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope everyone enjoyed!


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